


Fear Me

by SierraBravo



Category: Fright Night (2011), Underworld (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Plot, M/M, Panic Attacks, Smut, Vampires, Werewolves, making out but everyone has fangs, vampire related body horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:13:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 78,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23495860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraBravo/pseuds/SierraBravo
Summary: Back in 2011, Peter was bitten by a vampire, and then cured, but the traces still linger. Soon the sun starts to feel too much like fire, and he's just so verythirstyall the time, and not just for the hot and mysterious hunter Lucian.
Relationships: Lucian (Underworld)/Peter Vincent
Comments: 342
Kudos: 72





	1. Peter Has A Hangover

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @wonderlandiscrumbling for inspiring me to write this idea, go read all their excellent GOEU fics they're rad

The first mistake Peter made that morning was waking up. The next one was to open his eyes. Fuck, it burned, it burned and set off the jackhammer in his head. He groaned, pulled a spare pillow closer and put it over his eyes, wincing at the sharp pain any movement brought.

Last night had been good. It had been fun. Well, scary at first, but then fun. He had met up with Lucian for another hunt. Peter had met the other hunter a few weeks ago, while looking for a particularly sneaky vampire he’d trailed across the city. They had taken the thing down together, and then spent some hours talking while they cleaned up the mess so there wouldn’t bee anything too suspicious for the cops to find. 

Lucian, by the sounds of it, was from back home, another vampire hunter who’d managed to end up in Vegas, though he was more experienced than Peter by far. From the amount of stories he had of taking the bloodsuckers out he must have been at it for a decade, at least, and he certainly didn’t look any older than Peter. But they had exchanged numbers and emails, and then a little over a week later teamed up to take out another supernatural serial killer. And then, last night, they had been trailing another one.

The reports of people missing and murdered had led the two of them out to an abandoned building a little way outside the city, and they had staked it out. Sat in Peter’s car, drinking depressing petrol station coffees and talking about how they had gotten into the hunting business. Peter had shared his story, or at least some of it. Jerry killing his parents, his lackey killing Ginger, and how that had emboldened him to take the monsters from his past on. He hadn’t really mentioned the role Charley played in it, that he’d needed a seventeen year old to actually push him to action. Lucian, in return, had told him that a vampire had killed his wife and unborn child. Which, it had been a good bonding experience. Good time sharing vampire trauma and talking to another person without being under the influence of alcohol. His recently fired therapist would be proud.

A little after dusk they had snuck into the building, weapons at the ready. There were two vampires there, and Peter and Lucian had managed to get the drop on them, to come at them from either side unseen, and take them out. They had even managed to save a victim. A young woman, straight out of Peter’s show’s casting call for Main Victim. White, blonde, exceptionally pretty and clad all in pale, letting the blood shine a clean crimson.

They managed, between them, to convince her that the vampires had just been very goth serial killers, and while Lucian had cleaned up the corpses, Peter had driven the woman to the hospital, and only spent like a third of the drive chatting her up. She wasn’t really his type, a bit too innocent, but very hot, so he’d felt he had to give it a try. As it turned out, it was just as well it didn’t work out.

When Peter got back to the building Lucian had almost finished cleaning the place up, and together they drove out into the desert a little ways. They buried the corpses deep, where no one could find them. Then, since it was only close to eleven at that point, Peter suggested they go out to get a drink, celebrate the fact that they had actually saved someone for once. And Lucian, he went along with it.

The hunter had surprisingly good a drinker, taking even longer than Peter to get drunk. Which was impressive, Peter was an experienced drunk. They’d talked more, about nothing much. Well. At least nothing much that Peter could currently remember, but then, his head wasn’t in the best place.

Around six in the morning they had stumbled into a filthy, blue lit night club bathroom, locking themselves in a stall to make out and give each other drunken, sloppy handjobs. It had been… very good. Well, except for the bit where a guy came in and shouted at them, but evidently even the loudest of biphobes eventually got too uncomfortable to stay when you just upped the dramatic moaning enough.

Peter had no memory of leaving the club and getting home, but he was in his own bed, and he was pretty sure there was no one else around, so he must have managed somehow. He fumbled blindly for his phone, yanking it out of the charger and bringing it into the safe darkness under the pillow. It had lain in the sun, so the screen helpfully had adjusted itself to full brightness, and it nearly blinded him. He tapped in the code.

 **Lucian:** Hey, did you get home okay?

That was from… eight in the morning. Was he home by then? That was five hours ago. Not, he decided, enough hours. But he ought to reply anyway, didn’t he, when Lucian was sweet enough to check on him? He sent a thumbs up emoji. It was too early for any more communication than that. 

God, he felt like death. He struggled out of the bed, abandoning the safety of the pillow, but grabbing an eye mask from the floor, only medium dusty, and used it to cover his eyes so all he saw was the sliver of floor before him. Enough, surely, to navigate by.

There was a box of painkillers on his bar, next to an open bottle of whiskey. Had he had more to drink after he got home? Very possible. It might also have been open since the night before. Who knew. Certainly not him. He swallowed a few tablets with the whiskey and immediately regretted it. Stumbled into the bathroom and vomited onto the bath mat. Revolting. He tossed the whole thing in the bin, he wasn’t dealing with that, not in his state, and crawled into the shower, setting the water to as close to lava as it would get.

He hadn’t turned the lights on, hadn’t had time, and with the bathroom door only halfway open it was nice and dark in there. Dark and warm, like a cave. Which felt like it was reassuring, right now. Safe, away from sun other hellish things that made him feel like he might be better off just chopping his head off than suffer through this pain. 

The nice thing about being ridiculously rich and living in a place as fancy as he did was that the hot water never ran out. Or, well, he hadn’t managed to make it yet. So he stayed in the shower, curled up on the floor of it, wet and nauseous, for what was probably at least 45 minutes. He wondered if he could sleep in here. No, best not. Perhaps in the tub? Hmm. That was how people drowned, wasn’t it? Would drowning be preferable to this hangover? Yes. Absolutely.

He wondered, briefly, how Lucian was feeling. A vague feeling came to him, that Lucian had never seemed to be quite drunk enough for the amount of shots and drinks Peter had ordered for him. Strange. Perhaps he’d been cheating, drinking water whenever Peter didn’t look. Or maybe he just was really really good at it. Peter usually liked to think he was too, but today was clearly proof he was wrong. 

When it became clear the painkillers he had vomited up were not doing their job of externally numbing his pain censors Peter at last turned the water off. Grabbed a towel and rubbed off the water, and just as he turned to hang it he saw something in the mirror, something wrong. Something with pallid skin and blackened eyes, but when he looked around, frantic, worried some new vampire had come to seek revenge, there was nothing. Just his own face, dark purple bags under his eyes, a bruise on the side of his neck he didn’t remember, smudged eyeliner that was at this point pretty much tattooed into the corners of his eyes. Still. Spooky.

Peter closed the curtains and flung himself down on the bed, something he instantly began to regret when his temple landed on the edge of his phone, the pain in his head blooming into a garden of misery once more. There was another text from Lucian waiting for him.

 **Lucian:** I’m glad. Mailed you some reports we could look more into when you have time. 

Did the man not ever sleep? How was he writing in complete sentences after last night? It made little sense. But good to see he wasn’t regretting what they got up to last night. This could be a good fun thing, Peter thought. Hunter colleagues with benefits. If that was something Lucian was into. Peter hoped he was into it. The man was hot, and really good at killing vampires, which he was beginning to realise were now the two main qualities he looked for in potential recurring fuck buddies.

 **Peter:** cool, ill look into it hwen im less (skull emoji)

Yeah. That was casual. Fitting. Not mentioning the getting each other off in a bathroom stall stinking of sour beer and piss was probably the right move. Maybe it would come up more later. That was good, yeah. For now, Peter was going to sleep until the fucking sun fucked right back off to where it came from and be grateful he didn’t have a show tonight.


	2. In which Peter asks the hard hitting questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Lucian go out hunting together, consume much beer and have awkward conversations

“Do you think werewolves are real too?” Peter asked.

Lucian coughed, and looked pained, taking a sip of his beer to cover it up. Then he frowned, remaining quiet for a few moments.

“I mean, they might be? I don’t personally think so, I’ve never seen any convincing proof of it, but vampires turned out to be, so I suppose there’s always a chance. All supernatural myths must come from somewhere, but a human turning into an actual wolf does seem more unlikely than something human shaped feeding on human blood.”

“Hmm,” Peter said, “what about zombies?”

Lucian raised his eyebrows.

“Do you not think we would find out pretty quick if they were? Not exactly known for their subtlety, are they?”

Peter narrowed his eyes.

“Neither are werewolves, though. You seen any of the films? They all just sort of run rampant eating people and shit. Think maybe they’d get noticed too.”

Lucian opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it again, looking down at his beer as if it held all the answers.

“Fair enough,” he muttered.

He sounded, somehow, offended. Had Peter been a more suspicious man he would have suspected Lucian of being one of them, but that was absurd. The last hunt they’d gone on had been during a full moon, and Lucian had remained fully human throughout, never even seeming to notice the timing. Anyway, what sort of stupid monster would become a monster hunter? No, Lucian was clearly as human as they came.

They were sitting in the far corner of the closest thing to a real pub Peter could find in Vegas. It was pretty far from the real thing, of course, though the amount of sad middle aged people drinking alone was about the same. They didn’t have the right kind of beers, but on the bright side it had none of the bright lights and flashiness typical of this city. 

Spread out on the table were print outs of various reports on local crimes, with important and vampiric details circled in red ink. Some also were from less credible sources, like blogs dedicated to supernatural sightings. Most things on there, naturally, were absolute nonsense, but occasionally, if you knew what to look for, there would be something there. Someone’s real encounter with something clearly not human. On a screenshot from such a forum a short post was circled.

 **Crypt1dhunt3r_1992:** guys guys guys. Vampire in my neighborhood, swear to god. Doesn’t look all dracula but I saw it pass under a streetlight and the eyes were completely black. Not just the iris but all of it, and their face was smeared with blood. Maaay have been a larper or something but I checked, and there’s no kind of event organised nearby or in this entire state (sidenote, you guys know of anyone running any good ones? Getting tired of how few real physical swords are involved in d&d).

Attached was a crude drawing of a creature that, aside from being more or less a stick figure, looked strikingly like Jerry. At least if Jerry were a woman, which Peter assumed the two balloons drawn on the upper part of the stick figure’s torso was meant to indicate.

“You think any of this is real, then?” 

Lucian shrugged, and emptied his beer.

“There will always be more vampires out there. This is a decent size city, and filled with people drinking too much and making bad choices. Good hunting grounds for them. Whether these people have actually seen any of the vampires, or if any of these things will help us hunt them down, well. I don’t know.”

“Yeah, true,” Peter said, and went to get them more beers.

He was taking it slow tonight, just beer This was, after all, work. Sort of. Was it still work if you didn’t get paid for it? Was it a hobby? It might well be, he thought as he stared unashamedly at the ass of the guy queuing for the bar in front of him. For Lucian it seemed to be all he did, and Peter wondered how he made any money. Perhaps he was some rich guy who’d lost someone to vampires and gone a bit weird. But no, it didn’t feel like it. For one the leather coat he wore looked like it had been ripped and sewn back together several times. And he didn’t feel like that. Was it rude to ask? It probably was. Peter wondered when he’d started to care about being rude.

Peter liked Lucian, but he didn’t, like, like like him, did he? He was good to go hunting with, and he was hot, but he wasn’t really Peter’s type. He was reserved in a way few people managed to be in Vegas, and he didn’t really seem like he liked to party, but Peter found himself drawn to him still, wanting him to like him. Wanting him to like him for who he was, not just how good looking or rich or famous he was. Which. Eww. Weird. He had to stop thinking about this, because clearly giving credence to the idea of it was making it worse.

Lucian smiled his thanks when Peter handed him the next beer, and oh, that was such a nice smile, and Peter would quite like, he found, to be the cause of it more often. Fuck. Goddamn. Shit. Okay. 

He downed a good third of his beer in one. This one tasted weird, too, like the last one, even though they were different brands. Tasted sort of hollow, empty, like there was some vital component missing. Maybe he was starting to get cold? Losing his sense of taste? Though he couldn’t feel any other symptoms.

“You all right?” Lucian asked, and his eyes were, infuriatingly, both kind and pretty.

This was unfair. Banging someone was meant to make you get over your attraction to them, not make it more of a thing. Or. Maybe that was the issue? Maybe if he brought Lucian back to his flat and had a proper fuck, maybe that was what was missing. Yeah. Yeah, that sounded rational. Ish.

“Yup. Yeah. Brilliant. Just my beer tastes kind of… off. Which, given the price of it, should be illegal.”

“Ah, I see,” Lucian said, though he didn’t look entirely convinced.

“Anyway, you were saying earlier? About the post about vampires?”

“Oh. Yes. It seems to fit in with a series of other posts from roughly the same area. We could go check it out tomorrow, perhaps?”

“Uh,” Peter said, “Tomorrow night? Sure. Not got a show until the day after, I think.”

“I meant in the daytime,” Lucian said, “you know, when the vampires are inactive. Best time for the investigative part, I’ve found. Though I realise you said, about the ones who bury themselves in the very ground. As long as we stay out of cellars we ought to be able to find traces without actually having to fight any. I just think it would be advantageous to know the layout of their lair, and their numbers, because I am fairly certain there’s more than one.”

“Oh,” said Peter, “uh. Yeah, all right, I’m sure I can wake up a little earlier than usual for that.”

He found that he really didn’t want to, though he couldn’t think of why that would be. Sure, his sleep schedule had been even more skewed than usual lately, but that was just because he was up drinking all night. That shit made you need to sleep until three or four in the afternoon.

“...Earlier than what?” Lucian asked.

“Look, mate,” Peter said, running a hand through his (artfully) messy hair, “I work nights, essentially. My show starts at nine in the evening. Sometimes I hunt vampires. That’s all nocturnal business, right? I need my beauty sleep in the daytime. ‘S in my contract.”

He didn’t mention that this was true because he had made his agent put it in there. 

“I meant no offence,” Lucian said.

“Would you be able to meet me around noon?”

Peter felt like this was some sort of test.

“Yes?”

“Good. Here, I’ll write down a nearby address for you.”

-

Noon in Las Vegas in summer was hell. Like actual hell. Peter was awake, but barely. He had driven out early, been at the meeting place fifteen minutes early, just out of spite, because he’d felt like Lucian was making fun of him. He regretted it now, thinking that he might have had another few minutes of sleep.

The half melted ice cubes in his coffee rattled as he angrily tweeted about how bad mornings were to his thousands of followers. #mood, the responses read, #relatable and #saaaame. It was good to know he wasn’t alone in this.

The sun was ever bright, and he wore his darkest sunglasses, and had even gone as far as wearing sunscreen, just because he felt vaguely like he was getting a sunburn whenever he left his building in the daytime lately. His weak, British skin was not made for the desert, clearly. So he stayed in his car until he saw Lucian arrive on his motorbike. Of course he had a motorbike. Despite his soft demeanour he was just effortlessly _cool_. Which felt unfair, because Peter put a lot of work into being cool.

Peter downed his ice coffee, and got out of his car, becoming almost immediately drenched in sweat as he left the air conditioned darkness of it. Horrible. Proper summers stayed at 15-25 degrees and light rain, and that was if you were lucky. This desert stuff was nonsense. Even behind dark lenses he had to squint. 

“Ready?” Lucian asked, and Peter nodded.

He had a knife in his belt, as well as two stakes. He hadn’t brought the shotgun. Too noisy for this work. 

They headed into the abandoned building. It seemed like it had held offices before, some places that rented out to various businesses, but had now clearly been left to decay. The windows were covered in what seemed like years of dust, but as the got closer Peter could see someone had taped cardboard to the inside of the glass, to keep the sun out. Which, right, that was one of the suspicious things Lucian had mentioned he’d seen. Perhaps not a sure sign of a vampire, but certainly an indication.

The air inside was hot and dry, with an additional hint of dust which made it feel even worse than the air outside. A stack of cardboard boxes were in one corner of the room, and the smell told Peter that something had made a nest in there somewhere. 

“You want to go to the top floor and work your way down, then I’ll start here and work my way up?” Lucian suggested.

“Sure, okay.”

-

“I think we could take them,” Peter said confidently.

They had finished their sweep of the building, and, very carefully, had a look at the cellar, too. From what they could tell, there was one room where the vampires seemed to be holed up, but it was locked in such a way that it would be impossible to get to them without the bloodsuckers waking up. So. Ambush.

“Yes? What, do you want to-”

“Yeah, let’s stay here, get them when they come out of their hiding place, when they’re all groggy and sleepy, yeah?”

Lucian frowned.

“We’d have to stay here another five hours, at least.”

“We could come back, right. Go home, stock up on equipment and weapons and shit. Meet back here a little before sundown, get in position proper, that sound good?”

“All right, we can do that. We go home now, then, and I’ll see you here like half an hour before sunset? Gives us time to lay some traps?”

“Yeah.”

-

This, Peter thought, was not going as planned. He was running up the stairs, a vampire following him. Down in the cellar Lucian was dealing with two others, and Peter’s plan had been to draw all of them up, to where there were tight hallways, where they couldn’t gang up on them as efficiently, but only one had followed him. 

He shoved open the door to the stairwell, sprinting into the corridor and around a corner, crouching just behind the corner, shoes sliding on the smooth linoleum. The vampire was too busy to listen, clearly, because Peter heard him approaching, the slap of feet, and he held the knife at the ready, slamming it into the first part of the vampire to turn the corner.

The vampire stumbled, the knife deep in his leg was ripped out of Peter’s hand, and he was nearly knocked to the ground. 

The vampire got back up, grabbed the knife, tugging it out of his thigh, showing no sign of pain. He lunged at Peter, who ducked, but he wasn’t fast enough. There was a searing pain in his arm, his sleeve growing wet and warm. He clutched it in his good hand, looking up at the vampire, who smirked, licking Peter’s blood off the knife. He grimaced, looked oddly at Peter.

“What are y-” he began to say, but got no further because suddenly something sharp was protruding from his chest.

He started to convulse, sinking to the ground, sliding off the bloody stake with a wet and horrible noise. Lucian was standing behind him, stake in hand. He was covered in blood. It was smeared across his face and down his neck, making his hair stick to his skin. He even looked like he had got some in his mouth and eyes, and Peter wondered whether vampirism could be transmitted that way, but Lucian didn’t seem worried, so perhaps not.

“Fuck,” Peter said, “thanks. Are you- oww. Are you okay? Hope the other guy looks worse?”

“What?”

“Than you. That’s a lot of blood? Hope it’s not all yours. You look rough.”

“I’m fine,” Lucian said distractedly, before seeming to notice Peter’s wound.

“You? Here, let me take a look at that cut, this was the last one of the vampires.”

He crouched next to Peter, carefully cutting his sleeve off with a bloody knife. This seemed vaguely unhygienic to Peter, but then, the knife had been lodged inside the vampire’s thigh before it got into Peter’s arm, so if there was an infection, even vampirism to be caught from this it was too late. Lucian didn’t seem worried, though, which made Peter’s theory, that the infection lay in their saliva, or something secreted by their fangs, more likely.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Lucian concluded after inspecting the wound, “We should clean it, and you’ll probably need stitches. Do you want me to drive you to the emergency room? Or I could probably do it at my place, I’ve had to do it on myself before, so I have equipment and can get it all sterile.”

“Rather have you do it, to be honest. They know me far too well at the emergency room, and the last time I was there it was for something that, uh. Well, details are not important, but I would very much like for them to forget me before I have to go back.”

Lucian looked both amused and curious, but didn’t ask. He just began to rip the shirt sleeve he had cut off until it was a long strip, which he wrapped tightly around Peter’s arm.

“Don’t want you bleeding out on me. Got to clear this mess up before we go.”

-

Peter drove after Lucian, following him back into the city, to one of the more run down neighbourhoods. He hadn’t been here before, hadn’t really spent much of his time exploring the less flashy parts of the city. Hadn’t seen the point.

They parked outside a tallish building, and Peter followed Lucian up a foul smelling stairwell to the fifth floor.

“Is it legal to not have a lift somewhere this hot?” Peter asked, but Lucian just shrugged. 

He didn’t seem even slightly winded. Perhaps he walked up and down these stairs a lot. He did seem very fit. Peter had vague memories of pushing his shirt up to lick at his nipples, of his fingers sliding down defined abs. Muscles that felt like they were developed from use, rather than too many hours spent at a gym. Peter shook his head. Thoughts for later.

Lucian’s flat was small and impersonal. A series of very small rooms branching off from a long, cramped hallway. Tiny kitchen, tiny bedroom, tiny bathroom, tiny something that might have been intended as a living room but which was clearly the office of a maniac. Well, that was harsh. But there was an actual huge map nailed to the wall, full of pins and photos and post it notes indicating attacks across the state. God, if all these were accurate Nevada was in trouble. There were a few bookcases, filled with ancient looking tomes, and a desk, on which sat a tired looking computer.

Lucian led him into the bathroom, and Peter sat down on the closed toilet. Watched Lucian root through a small and overstuffed cabinet until he pulled out what looked like a very well used first aid kit. He plucked out a small bottle and some cotton balls. Thought better of it and washed his hands, then got out what looked like fancy needle and thread. Pulled out a box of gloves and put them on.

“This is going to hurt,” he warned Peter before he carefully began to remove the make shift bandage.

It really fucking did.

“Ah fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Fuuuuck.”

“Yes,” Lucian agreed sympathetically. 

He gingerly removed the last layer of blood crusted cloth, and dabbed at the cut. It had started to slowly ooze blood again.

“Aren’t you s’posed to pour whiskey on it or something? That’s how these scenes all go in films.”

Lucian frowned.

“This is- no. Why? This is medical, it’s made specifically to clean wounds, why would I use whiskey?”

“...Never mind.”

Lucian was a fucking weirdo. Which, Peter supposed, was only to be expected from a full time vampire hunter. He got the needle and thread ready, then asked Peter if he was.

“I mean, usually when I get stitches it’s because I’ve hurt myself while I was drunk, so I haven’t tried this mostly sober yet.”

“Mostly?”

“Had a few beers while I was home getting ready. Calms nerves and stuff.”

“Remind me not to get a ride with you,” Lucian muttered, and plunged the needle into his skin.

“Fuck!”

-

“You got any painkillers? Or booze? Ideally both?” Peter asked.

He was wearing a t-shirt Lucian had lent him, his own being both quite bloody and missing a sleeve, and that wasn’t the look he was going for. Besides, this was better. It was soft and worn thin and smelled vaguely like Lucian, which some part of Peter was very into.

“Yes, hold on,” Lucian said, leaving Peter in the living room slash insanity office.

There were a lot of weird notes, and none of them were in English. He squinted at them, but couldn’t quite place the feel of the language. 

_Notă pentru sine: Obțineți o întâlnire cu drăguțul vânător care a fost mușcat cu siguranță de un vampir._

Which, well, only word he could recognise was _vampir_. Which made sense. That’s what the notes would be about, wouldn’t they? He was just about to plug it into google translate to work it out when Lucian returned with a packet of paracetamol and a couple of beer bottles.

“My saviour,” Peter said, gratefully accepting both, popping free two tablets and swallowing them down with icy cold beer. 

He looked out of the window, saw the bright moon shining outside. It was dark. They, or, well, mostly Lucian, had spent a good while cleaning up the place and driving the corpses into the desert. Which, Peter wondered how many corpses of vampires Lucian had buried out there. He wondered if anything ate them, or if they just sort of dried up, got turned into fucked up mummies.

“You can stay the night, if you want.” Lucian offered.

“Yeah? That, I mean, if you don’t mind, that would be great. Driving was not great for my arm, I noticed.”

“Of course.”

-

“I can sleep in my office, you take the bed, you’re injured.”

“I’ve been in your office, there isn’t even a comfy chair there.”

“It’s fine,” Lucian assured him, “I’ve slept on worse floors.”

“Oh fuck off, don’t be silly. I’ve touched your dick. We can share this large bed just fine, all right?”

“If you insist,” Lucian said, with a strange sort of mix of fondness and defeat. 

Perhaps Peter was reading too much into it. 

“Come on, then,” Peter said, settling on the bed and squirming over until he was laying with his injured arm almost pressed into the wall. 

Lucian kicked off his shoes and laid down next to him, keeping a respectable amount of distance between them. Peter rolled his eyes. Again, they had very much done sexy things together, but then, he supposed, actual sleeping together, just like this, was far more intimate. He stayed on his back, but turned his head to look at Lucian. His back was to Peter, his dark hair flowing across the pillow. The thin fabric of his t-shirt was pulled tight, and Peter could see the outlines of impressive muscles.

“Good night,” Lucian said softly.

“Night,” Peter replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I don't speak Rumenian, but I ran that one sentence back and forth through google translate a couple of times, so if any of you speak it i am sorry  
> Also Peter's last visit to the ER was definitely a stupid sex related thing.


	3. Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up in Lucian's bed and has a nice morning for once in his life.

A loud shout woke Lucian, and he tensed, ready to fight, almost letting his fangs slip out before remembering where he was, who was here with him. Peter was sitting up, breathing heavily, looking around.

“Hey,” Lucian asked, sitting up and putting a careful hand on Peter’s shoulder, “are you all right?”

When Peter turned around his eyes were completely black. It was a feat of will not to react, but clearly Peter had not yet caught onto what was happening to him, and Lucian didn’t think this would be a good time to point it out to him. He looked terrified.

“Bad dream?” 

Peter ran a hand through his hair, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and when they opened back up they were back to brown on white. 

“Yeah. Sorry. Don’t always get them, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s no trouble. Do you want to tell me what it was about?”

Peter shrugged, and flopped back down, then winced, clearly having forgotten his injured arm. Lucian lay down too, turning over onto his side to face Peter. He looked so very pale in the darkness, the infection slowly consuming him draining the colour from his skin. 

“Uh, so I told you about Jerry, yeah? Bloodsucker who killed my family, killed my girlfriend?”

“You did,” Lucian confirmed.

“Well, when w- when I killed him, at one point, right, I got overwhelmed by the victims he had turned. It was like seven of them, biting me, trying to pull me down into the ground with them. In my dreams they manage it.”

“Uh,” he added, “killed Jerry with a special stake, though, luckily, ‘s why I got better, why I’m still me.”

“Of course,” Lucian said.

It was always going to be a painful thing to watch. He’d known that when they first met a few weeks ago. Had smelled it on his blood, the way the hint of vampire in it got stronger each time they met. But he liked Peter. He was nice, he was passionate about hunting vampires, and had lived with the trauma they caused for most of his life, like Lucian. He hadn’t done anything to deserve what was happening to him, and there was nothing Lucian could do to help him, nothing anyone could do. Or, well. Probably there wasn’t anything. Lucian had wondered whether, if he bit Peter, made him a lycan, that would mitigate the effects of the encroaching vampirism. That it could lead to him still being able to stand the light of the sun, being able to feed on other things than blood, possibly. But Peter wouldn’t want that. Lucian had heard the way he talked about being turned, like it was the worst curse, like being anything but human was a fate worse than death.

“Hmm. ‘S nice.”

“Mm?”

“Not waking up after these alone. Shit, that’s a weird thing to say, isn’t it? Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, I understand. For years after my wife was killed that was what I would see in my dreams every night. Her dying in front of my eyes, and me not being able to do anything about it. They are… less frequent now. I don’t know that they ever disappear completely.”

“Fuck, sorry, that’s terrible.”

Peter turned onto his side to face Lucian, his head resting on his arm.

“Yes, it was. It is. The things that- that some people can do.”

He didn’t want to talk about vampires as being per definition terrible. They clearly were not, of course. Sonja had been perfect, had been his everything. He recognised that while the need to sustain oneself on blood was unfortunate because that blood had to come from someone, vampires weren’t inherently bad. Their culture, though, was one of oppression and abuse, and it was rare for one indoctrinated in it to break free of it. But perhaps many vampires did, they just had the good sense to leave Budapest then, to get out from the terrible rule of the vampire council, the elders. Of course, most of those elders were dead now. He hadn’t checked back with home in a long time. Hadn’t wanted to.

Peter’s eyes were slipping closed, now, and Lucian was glad he had calmed down enough to be falling back asleep. He hadn’t worked out yet, how to impart to him the certainty that not all vampires were evil just for existing. It was important Peter knew that before he turned fully, Lucian thought, or he would do something stupid like try walking out into the sun. And Lucian very badly didn’t want him to.

Peter was the first human Lucian had befriended. Which, well, made sense that that humanity was steadily leaking out of him, didn’t it? Poetic, almost, in a tragic sort of way. Lucian had been born and raised among creatures of the supernatural, and for most of his life humans had been background noise, creatures around whom life had to be organised, because there were so very many of them, and they liked attacking those whom they did not understand with silvered swords. But Peter knew about the horrors that came out at night, like Lucian. He might not entirely understand yet, but Lucian believed he could, eventually. Of course, he had no other choice.

-

When Peter woke up he felt like shit. This was a common occurrence lately, but he had hoped, foolishly, that waking up next to Lucian would make him feel better. Only, as he opened his eyes he realised Lucian wasn’t there any more. A few rays of sun peaked in through cracks between heavy, dark curtains. He groaned. Pressed his face back down into the pillow, which smelled distinctly of Lucian, which wasn’t a smell he realised he was that familiar with. He didn’t mind.

He gave himself a few minutes to feel less like death. It was getting harder, lately, despite the fact that he had, if anything, been drinking slightly less. Perhaps a few decades of bad choices were finally catching up with him. He was only barely on the right side of forty, and he supposed he couldn’t stay young and healthy forever. Hadn’t really expected to get this far.

Peter found Lucian in the office type room, reading what looked to be a several centuries old book in what was definitely not English. He looked up at him, a slight smile on his face.

“There’s coffee, if you want, in the kitchen.”

“Life saver, you are,” Peter muttered, heading out in search of it.

The kitchen looked barely used, oddly empty. He wondered how long Lucian had lived here, how long he’d been in America at all. A short search yielded a cabinet full of generic white mugs, and he filled one with coffee, inhaling the good perfect smell of it. He took a tiny sip. It burned his mouth just right, but again the taste was not quite what he wanted it to be. Well, Lucian, by the looks of his lifestyle, probably didn’t buy the stupidly fancy, overpriced coffee that Peter did. That must be it.

He wandered back into Lucian’s office space, and leaned against the wall. There was only the one chair.

“What are you reading?”

“It’s a book with theories on the development of vampirism. It is, admittedly, from the eighteenth century, and so much of the biology they talk about is, mildly put, nonsense, but they may be right about some things.”

“And what language is that?”

“Latin.”

“Of course you speak bloody Latin. And what language are all the notes?”

“Romanian.”

“Naturally.”

“It’s where I’m from,” Lucian explained with a good natured smile.

A good smile.

“Really? Did you what, live in England for a while?”

“A little while, yes.”

“Huh.”

“So you’re from vampire country.”

“I am,” Lucian agreed.

Peter took another unsatisfying sip of coffee, looking at Lucian appraisingly, trying to picture it.

“There many vampires there?”

Lucian sighed, and closed his book, putting it down carefully, and Peter felt bad for a moment. Always disturbing people, being in their way, demanding attention.

“Far too many,” Lucian said, and there was a weight to his words, some heavy emotions pulling down the very air in the room.

“It’s where they’re from. Well, at least the species of them that I am… most familiar with. A different one than the most common ones here, I think. They are very… European in nature, I suppose. Very classic. Dark forbidding castles in the Carpathian mountains, their social structure like human royalty.”

Peter frowned. Human royalty. Weird way to phrase that.

They spent a little while in there, going over some of the massive amounts of research Lucian had gathered over the years, and the sightings and reports they thought might be indicative of actual supernatural activity. Set up a plan of places to check out, but not right away, not for a little while.

At some point they had both sat down on the floor, their backs against the wall, the better to look at the same book. Peter could feel the heat of Lucian through the few almost accidental points of contact, their elbows, shoulders, hands almost overlapping on the ancient book Lucian was partially translating for Peter’s benefit.

Peter had stopped quite paying attention a little while earlier, and had spent the last few minutes just looking at Lucian, the way his hair, neatly tied back, still fell forward across his shoulders. At the neat triangle of chest revealed by his partially open shirt, the way dark hair curled there, almost out of sight. On the elegant shapes of his face, and how he clearly made absolutely no attempt at keeping his beard in check. It was quite endearing. And such a beautiful face, now turning, eyebrows raising, looking up at him.

“Hey,” Peter said, voice so soft as to almost be a whisper, “would you mind terribly if I kissed you?”

“No,” Lucian replied, dark eyes on Peter, “not at all.”

So Peter did, cupping Lucian’s face in his hands, letting fingers find their way into his long, thick hair, pulling him close until their lips met. Lucian’s lips were soft, a contrast to the scratchy feel of his beard against Peter’s skin. He licked at his lips, and Lucian opened his mouth, deepening their kiss, his hand finding its way to the back of Peter’s neck, another on his shoulder.

They broke apart for a moment, needing air, needing to look at each other, making sure they were both on board with this. And, well, Peter extremely was, and Lucian seemed quite enthusiastic too, removing the book from his lap, pulling Peter closer. He obliged, settling so he was straddling Lucian’s legs, and leaning in for another kiss, pressing himself against Lucian, feeling his hands on his back, his shoulders, pulling him closer.

It was nice, nicer than last time. Being sober for it seemed to help a little, made it feel a little more like Lucian might genuinely want him, not just being drunk enough to go along with Peter’s flirting. Peter felt himself beginning to get hard, grinding down against Lucian, feeling him respond in kind. He began to slowly unbutton Lucian’s shirt, revealing more of that solid, well muscled chest, kissing down his neck. Lucian’s fingers were pushing up the edges of his shirt, hot fingers against the skin of his stomach.

Peter pulled back long enough to suggest they moved to the bedroom, and Lucian agreed, and they moved, still kissing, uncoordinatedly towards their destination. Peter pushed Lucian down onto the bed, settling over him. He pulled his own shirt over his head, wincing briefly at the stretch of his newly sown together flesh, and then started working on Lucian’s belt.

“You sure you want this?” Lucian asked, a hand on Peter’s, a hint of concern in his eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” Peter confirmed, “very. You?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Peter said, “excellent. Lovely.”

He got off the bed again, pulling down his skinny jeans, struggling out of them in a not quite sexy manner. He’d never quite gotten the hang of how to do that, the struggle of too tight trousers. But that was the prize you paid for looking good, he supposed. By the time he finish wriggling out of them Lucian had gotten naked too, and oh. He was a beautiful sight. Smooth skin, punctuated occasionally with dark brown hair and pale white scars. There were so very many scars. Peter stroked careful fingertips across a particularly nasty looking one just under his ribs.

“What are all these from?”

He felt Lucian’s chest rise and fall beneath his touch.

“That one is from a crossbow bolt.”

“What, really?”

“Yes. Some old fashioned people back home.”

“Wow. Okay. Looks painful.”

“Oh, it definitely was,” Lucian confirmed.

Peter watched his eyes linger for a few moments on Peter’s own scars, on the insides of his arms, but he didn’t comment. What was there to say, after all? They were obvious, boring, signs of a miserable youth, not fucking cool medieval weapon wounds. 

“Come here,” Lucian suggested, seeing Peter’s distraction.

And Peter did, getting back onto the bed, half on top of Lucian, their bodies pressed together. Lucian was so very warm, and god it felt good, even here, even in Vegas, Peter just wanted to press ever closer to him. He kissed him again, deeply then moved, pressing kisses down his neck, across his collarbones and down his chest. Rubbing over his nipples with his fingers as he kissed downward. 

“Uh,” he asked, “you got any lube?”

“Ah, yes,” Lucian said, fishing a tube out of a drawer in the night stand, handing it to Peter.

He uncapped it, pouring some globs onto his fingers, then paused.

“Do you want to- or-”

“I’d like you inside me,” Lucian told him, “right now, if you want that also.”

“Oh,” Peter said, “yeah, yup, very- very much yes.”

God, Lucian’s smile at that was so very good that Peter almost regretted having to take his focus off his face. He slid a slick finger down to circle at the puckered hole, leaning forward at the same time to lick a stripe up Lucian’s cock, swiping his tongue across the head and tasting the precum that beaded there. Heard the beautiful sound Lucian made at that, taking the opportunity to press a finger into him, feeling the tight heat. He took Lucian’s cock into his mouth, sucking, swallowing around him, concentrated on both relaxing enough to take him further in and on pressing a second finger into Lucian.

He added a third finger when Lucian pressed back against him, fingers having found their way into Peter’s hair, not pressing him down, but gently, perhaps, suggesting that he get on with it. Which fair, Peter was also very very eager for that part.

“Ready?”

Lucian nodded emphatically, and so Peter poured out some more lube, slicking himself up. He pressed into Lucian slowly, savouring that sweet, hot, wet pressure. Lucian, however, was less patient, hooking a leg behind Peter’s back, pressing him closer, further into him. So Peter pulled out, thrusting back in hard, hearing Lucian moan beneath him. Yes. Good. Perfect. He set a fast rhythm, not quite feeling patient enough to take his time. And by the feeling of Lucian’s nails scoring long lines down his back, he didn’t mind.

He pulled Peter down into a deep kiss, teeth knocking together, but perfect anyway. Peter reached between them, wrapping a hand, still slick, around Lucian’s cock, and was rewarded with a moan, Lucian thrusting into his hand. 

“Please,” Lucian demanded, though Peter wasn’t sure what he was asking for, only that he agreed.

He was getting close now, a proper rhythm harder to maintain, his hand on Lucian’s cock almost stilling. He leaned down again, kissing Lucian, pressing into him, coming, almost unexpectedly. He rested his face on Lucian’s chest for a moment, reaching down to stroke him properly, and it wasn’t long before Lucian came too, spilling over Peter’s hand and his own stomach.

Peter pulled out, shifting off Lucian a bit, but continuing to rest his head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat, an arm thrown across him. He had the brief fear that they would have to talk about this now, about what this meant, now that they had done this while sober, but luckily Lucian didn’t seem to feel that was needed right away. Instead he stroked Peter’s back, kissing the top of his head. It was so soft and tender that Peter didn’t know how to deal with it, what to feel, other than the elation already present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's five thirty in the morning at time of posting so this is, if anythig, the oppsite of edited. Clearly I don't do much editing anyway, but my eyes feel like the desert so I'm too dead to even comb through for the seven inevitable typos sorry.


	4. Peter Has Beef With Vampire Lore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Spirals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended soundtrack for this chapter is Songs for Pierre Chuvin by the Mountain Goats. Not because it has any relevance at all, but it just came out today and is a jam and they're my favourite band so I think everyone should listen to them.

Look, Peter wasn't an idiot, he really wasn't. Getting more sunburns than usual, what the vampire who had tasted his blood had almost managed to say before Lucian murdered him, all food and drink tasting weird. Of course he'd had the thought that he was turning into a vampire. It just couldn't be, though. That wasn't how it worked, it wasn't a slow descent into it, it was a rapid change. When he was bitten he had started to burn slowly in the sunlight within minutes. And that was over two years ago.

He paced his living room, hands worrying at the sharp faux wolf tooth that hung on one of his many necklaces. It was dark out already, and he had his show in just over two hours, and he was nervous. Not for the show, he never was, but in general, about what the hell was going on with him. He hadn't thought to hard on it, after it happened, being distracted by the great big gash in his arm, the presence of Lucian, always hot enough to keep Peter from ruminating. But it was undeniable, wasn't it, what was the bloodsucker saying other than "what are you?". What was he. Fuck.

The thing was. The thing very much was, that there was no one at fucking all he could tell about this. All the people he knew who knew about supernatural stuff were hunters. They’d kill him. Hell, he’d kill himself, right, if that ended up happening. Wouldn’t he? If Lucian came to him about something like this, or Charley did, would Peter be able to kill them? Probably not. Not unless they were acting like a monster too, right? God this shit was fucked up.

Peter ran his tongue across his teeth, then felt them with his thumb, but they were all flat and human still. He checked his eyes in his reflection, but they too remained normal and human looking. He thought about blood. It didn’t inspire any great hunger in him. Was he just paranoid? Probably. Possibly. Probably not? Fuck, he was too sober for this shit.

Heading over to his bar he poured himself a glass of vodka, chucked in some ice cubes. Drained half. Bit better. Didn’t sting like it should, though, which was worrying. He knew he was spiralling. Knew what the start of these vortexes of panic and despair felt like, and it was real fucking inconvenient of it to happen right before his show. He needed that to go okay. Owed it to his fans, he supposed, and his manager, but mostly it was for his own sake. Was the one thing he could reliably do, and if that went, then, well.

He swallowed down the rest of his drink, then went into the bathroom to examine his face in the mirror. He was still there, which was good. Wasn’t fading from the mirror. Hmm. Good. Promising. But he needed further tests. To reassure himself, to prove to both his mind and the universe that he was wrong, he was paranoid, he was having a panic attack, but he wasn’t actually turning into one of the monsters that had destroyed his life. 

In the hall of anti vampire weapons he had collected the things he thought might help the most. He’d done so with an oven glove, just in case, because he wanted to find out when he was ready, not right away. Glass cases sat on the floor next to pedestals, and in the middle of the room was a pile of potential pain. Peter sat down, legs crossed, before all of them. 

The cross went first. A wooden crucifix, and a silver one, and an iron one for good measure. Granted, that last one was more faeries than vampires, but it was best to be on the safe side. He touched them all in turn, hesitating with each one, but none of them caused any reaction. Good. Cool. Fun. Did it matter that he’d never actually believed? Would it be different if it was used by someone Christian? A stake blessed by a saint, how about that? But no, it had burned up with Jerry, and he hadn’t got another one. He could ask a priest to bless one, he supposed, but if he himself burst into flames or started crawling on the ceiling of the church or whatever that might be a bit weird.

Next, in the same vein, holy water. He unscrewed the ancient flask of it (It was, after all, mainly for the aesthetic, and stuck his pinky finger very slowly down into it. It tingled slightly, which grew into an itching sensation as he kept it there. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He kept it in there, made himself, as it begun to sting. After something that felt like hours, but was probably around ten minutes it was a genuine burning sensation, and he swore, pulling it out, carefully closing the bottle. 

Fuck.

So it really was a gradual thing, a slow process of being taken over. When would he begin to thirst for the blood of innocent humans? When would he turn into an evil monster? How long before all he could feel was a feral thirst, a desire to wrench humans apart and drink their life force, before it was the only thing that could sustain him?

Shit.

But what did it mean, though, the holy water burning? Was it because it had been blessed by the pope? That sure as shit had made it fucking expensive to import. Was it his belief or that of the one using these things against him that mattered? If he touched the crucifixes for long enough, would he burst into flames? He supposed he would find out, wearing his fake cross tattoos for his show. And what about other religious symbols? Would they burn him too, if the user believed in it hard enough? Or was this proof of the existence of a Christian god? Or was it merely the force with which humans believed that was capable of hurting him? 

He opened the jar of crushed garlic he’d found in his kitchen, and stuck a spoon in, taking a mouthful. It burned. It felt horrible. He was, however, reasonably sure that this would have been the result of eating a spoonful of raw garlic for any human. Besides, that was different, wasn’t it. Could well be a newly developed allergy. Which, all right, he supposed that was technically what it was for vampires too. Like cats and dogs couldn’t have anything oniony at all. Huh. If werewolves were real, would they be unable to have garlic and chocolate, like dogs? Would it only affect them in wolf form? If they ate chocolate shortly before turning into a wolf, and it remained in their stomach after they transformed, would they still react badly to it?

His mobile vibrated, and when clicked showed a message from his assistant that he ought to have been in the dressing room twenty minutes ago. Shit.

-

The show had gone fine. Nothing had happened. His fake tattoos hadn’t burned, though he was relieved, now, that he’d never made them permanent. He was even a little bit less stressed out, having poured all his nervous energy into fighting pretend vampires. Still, he didn’t feel up to going out drinking with the girls after the show. He retreated, instead, up to his flat.

In the lift up he pulled out his mobile, tapping the screen impatiently, deliberating. If he was dying, if he was becoming a monster, and would have to die, then, well, there weren’t any consequences, were there? Not any real ones. Nothing mattered. Might as well have a last bit of fun.

 **Peter:** heyy, u up?

 **Lucian:** I am awake, yes. Why?

God what was wrong with this man, was he raised Amish or something? Had Romania not reached 2013 yet? Was he just like seventy years old despite looking thirty-five? In that case Peter needed to know his skin care routine. Only shit. He didn’t, did he. Not any more. Could abuse his skin all he wanted. Could go tan for days at a time. Well. Maybe not that. Or at least, only once.

 **Peter:** Wanna come over?

It was five whole minutes before Lucian replied, during which Peter drank two shots of vodka and stared, wide eyed, at the glowing screen. He lay down on the sofa, his head just the slightest hint of fuzzy. He worried still, of course, but it was a little at a distance now. Like his panic attack was happening just a few inches to the left of him, to a sort of parallel Peter. It was nice.

 **Lucian:** I will be there in half an hour.

Then, two minutes later.

 **Lucian:** My estimate might have been incorrect. Also, you have not told me your address.

Peter wondered briefly how he was attracted to someone who texted like his grandmother, but just picturing what they had gotten up to the last time helped quite a lot. Perhaps even a little too much. So he texted Lucian the details, and went on spotify to try to find a playlist that said hey let’s have really hot sex but also if I turn into a bloodsucking monster please kill me. 

Was that what he wanted? There was some feeling in him, some dread at the thought. Some part of him that, considering the very real possibility of having to die, wanted desperately to stay alive, at any cost. Even if that cost was to feed on humans? Which, well, that made his teenage suicide attempt a bit ironic, didn’t it. 

He took a quick shower, washing off his fake tattoos and most of the make up. The eyeliner was hard to get off, so he didn’t bother. Put on some clothes that it was a little easier to get out of than his costume. That was, hopefully, where the night was going to go. If Lucian was up for it. He probably was, yeah? He had been, last time, but Peter found it hard to read the other hunter, to figure out what he really felt. There was the feeling that he was keeping something back, but then, they had only known each other a few weeks, hadn’t even met all that often, and though hunting and sex both were good bonding activities, it wasn’t like they knew all that much about each other.

Lucian arrived not too long later, looking beautiful as always. His long, dark hair was entirely pulled back, now, and that was such a strange look on him, but very good too. He glanced at the pile of anti vampire stuff which Peter belatedly remembered he hadn’t never gotten around to cleaning up. So Peter shrugged.

“Was doing some research,” he explained.

“On garlic?”

“What, is that not a good vampire weapon, then?”

“I think you would have to force feed a lot to them, if they even reacted to it,” Lucian said, “and that’s not really much of an option in a fight. Maybe if you catch one. But they don’t really eat, so it’s tricky getting one in them. To be honest with you, I’m not entirely sure whether that’s simply a hu- well, not a hunter myth. A non hunter myth. Certainly no vampires I’ve ever encountered have been vanquished with the use of any sort of vegetable.”

“Right, okay, fair enough. You want a drink?”

They spent some time talking, more general stuff about vampires, Peter carefully sounded out some theories, and Lucian kept looking at him like there was something wrong, something bad, some doom hanging over the two of them which Peter could not perceive, and which it was Lucian’s tragic duty to tell him of, just before the end. Did he know? He couldn’t know, could he? 

“Hey, Lucian?”

“Yes?”

“If I got bit by a vampire, would you kill me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did put a bunch of raw crushed garlic in my mouth to confirm that it is, in fact, not good, however much I'm human and generally an allium enthusiast, because I'm dedicated. Can I still taste that shit? Absolutely. Gonna drink enough beer that I can't anymore now. Part two of this up soon, possibly tomorrow, depening on how boring a shift I have at work.


	5. Discussions On The Loss Of Humanity Part I: Exsanguinators And Their Feeding Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian and Peter have a Serious Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @electric-monet was lovely enough to make Peter's playlist for the last chapter, and u can find it here https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6uezh9FhE9gA3FMpPRP5Jl?si=OWypIFDdRAOwvxIfijXQoQ and u should play it while reading this and also tha k you!

“If I got bit by a vampire, would you kill me?”

Lucian looked at him, eyes narrowed, for a moment before answering.

"That would depend, I suppose."

"On what?"

"Well, for one, for many h- people vampire bites are deadly, and they never get the chance to turn. And not all vampires even feed on humans. Some consume only animal blood, or get it from other sources. Not all are mindless monsters."

Peter looked at him, trying to figure out what he was trying to say. It felt almost like he knew, like he was trying to reassure Peter, but he couldn't. Could he? Had Peter been that careless? Was the question that leading?

"Weird thing to say for someone who kills vampires for a living."

"Only the ones who kill humans," Lucian pointed out, "it's not like people really chose to become vampires. Most are bitten, some are born, and-"

"I'm sorry, born? Vampires are born? How can undead things give birth?"

Lucian shrugged.

"The vampires from home, my home, they're different. They are alive, even if they do not age after reaching adulthood. They can have offspring, though they don't do it often. But they can also affect people with their bite. It has a very low survival rate, though. Most humans die from the infection. They're simply a species that subsists on blood and are, ah, extremely flammable when exposed to UV light. And who can go into a sort of hibernation for centuries at a time."

Which, that was weird. There was a familiarity to the way Lucian spoke of them, like he knew this not from reading it but from seeing it.

"You seem to know a lot about them."

"I'm good at what I do."

Peter put his now empty glass down on the table. It was his fourth after Lucian had arrived, but it wasn't hitting him like it should have. He leaned his head on his arm on the back of the sofa, studying Lucian. He looked human. But then, so would a vampire, wouldn't it? So did Jerry when he wasn't in full monster mode. His eyes were soft and focused on Peter, his hair slipping out from where he had tied it back, some strands falling into his face. Peter longed to push them away, to touch that lovely face, despite what they were talking about, what was happening. They weren't quite at that stage of comfort with each other yet, despite having slept together, both literally and in the more sexual sense.

"You've still not told me."

"Only," Lucian said, "if you were killing people when feeding, if there was no hope of redeeming you."

"Do you think all types of vampires can be redeemed? Not just your weird living Eastern European ones?"

"I'm not sure," Lucian admitted.

Which figured. Figured Peter was turning into the one that had no choice but to be a horrible bloodthirsty monster, to lose control and become a killer.

"But I think," Lucian continued, "that it depends on the person bitten. If they have anyone to help them through it, if they understand what's happening to them. If not, if all they feel is this overpowering hunger that cannot be sated until they lose control and take a life, then I can understand how they come to believe that that is the only way to be. And once you start to feed that way it is difficult to stop, I imagine."

"Hmm," Peter said, and got to his feet, grabbing both their empty glasses and heading to the bar.

"Have you ever met any of these, then? These less horrific vampires?"

"Yes," Lucian said, but he didn't immediately leap to explaining.

Peter filled their glasses, and then rejoined Lucian on the sofa, sitting just a little closer, his knee just a few inches from Lucian's thigh, close enough to accidentally touch if their conversation demanded enough expressive gesturing. Peter hoped it would.

"And? What were they like, then?"

Lucian's eyes became glazed over, like he was watching his memory as on film, projected onto an invisible screen somewhere behind Peter's right shoulder.

"Well, they didn't feed on humans. That's an important one to you, well, to us all. Fed on the blood of animals in the old times, on synthetic blood now. Too much bother, you see, feeding on humans. Encourages angry torch wielding mobs. They weren't exactly good people, many of them were terrible, but no better or worse than a human society."

"Were?"

"I... was involved in an incident which left the clan disbanded, about a decade ago. It was a war that culminated in a bloodbath. It is... one of my greatest regrets, how that turned out."

"Because vampires died?"

"Because a lot of people died, vampire or otherwise. I nearly died. Think I technically might have for a minute. Got better, though. Evidently."

"Glad you did. Would've been sad not to get to meet you," Peter told him, and hated how sappy and sentimental he sounded, and hated even more how utterly sincerely he meant it.

Lucian smiled at him, though, which made it all worth it. Fuck, he was falling for him, wasn't he? At the most inconvenient bloody time. Hah. Pun, well, something. And hey, maybe this was the opportunity to make the most of this chance. He leaned a little closer to Lucian, under the utterly unconvincing, and deliberately so, pretence of getting comfortable. Lucian was quite good at pretending he didn't notice, but there was a slight quirk of his lips that said that maybe he knew exactly what Peter was doing, and maybe he didn't mind, not even a little bit.

Glasses were abandoned with varying amounts of care on the table, and Peter placed a hand on Lucian's chest. Leaned in, all close, breath mingling. Lips meeting, soft, pliant, surrounded by hints of rough textured beard.

"Peter," Lucian began, pulling away briefly and leaving Peter feeling bereft, "why do you taste so strongly of garlic?"

"Oh," Peter said, "uhhh. Wanted to, uh, make sure you weren't a vampire."

"Ah. And are you satisfied?"

"I mean, I was hoping we'd bang, but I'm good with just making out and cuddling, too."

Lucian looked pained.

"That I'm not a vampire, I meant."

"Oh. Sure, yeah, that too."

"Do you- that is to say, is this what you want to do? Even... Even with what is going on, that is- even with what you've been talking about?"

Peter was both very suspicious, and trying at the same time to feign innocence, which was a tricky balance to hit. Lucian kept almost saying something, kept correcting himself to something not quite like what he had started to say, as if trying not to blurt out some secret he knew. And what could that secret be, really, other than the obvious? And if that was the case, why was he kissing him and very softly clasping Peter's hands, a thumb rubbing circles into Peter's skin? Why was he pointing out the possible goodness of vampires?

"Look, I know, Peter. I know what's happening to you."

"You do?"

"I've known since we met."

"You fucking what? What the fuck, Lucian!"

He held his hands in surrender, the absolute bastard.

"I'm sorry. I... Well, I thought it was best for you to work it out on your own, thought you wouldn't trust it coming from me, not when we'd just met."

Which wasn't wrong, really, was it. Peter wouldn't have trusted him, would have called him a lying bastard and not wanted anything to do with him and then gone home to drink until he forgot. And when he began to realise, when understanding what he was turning into became inevitable, he would have spiralled alone. Well, much like now, only without this man somehow understanding his secrets, understand what he was becoming and still not leaving. Which meant there was something very seriously wrong with him, but at this point, who was Peter to judge?

“Hold on, wait a minute, how did you know? How did you know weeks ago when I’m only really figuring it out today? If you saw the shit in the hall, heard my questions, yes, all right, fine, I’m not as subtle as I think I am, that’s fair, but how the fuck did you know weeks ago? And why didn’t you kill me then?”

“Because,” Lucian said, and leaning back a little further, so they were only barely touching any more, “I don’t think you are going to turn evil. I’m not as familiar with the sort of vampire you were bitten by, and the fact that clearly the infection has been dormant for so long is, of course, strange, but I thought I should keep an eye on you. See how it developed. It’s not as if there is some cure for vampirism I’m hiding from you, Peter.”

“So that’s what all this is, then?” Peter demanded, gesturing back and forth between them, “’s just you making sure I don’t suddenly start eating people? You had sex with me just to keep an eye on me?”

Lucian sighed.

“Of course not, Peter. Look, that was the original purpose, yes, but I like you. I like spending time with you. And yes, I like the sex too.”

“But you’re not bothered, then, about me turning into a fucking vampire?”

Lucian shrugged, and jesus fucking christ, what was wrong with this man?

“It’s not your fault, what has happened to you. Or did you go out and get bitten deliberately?”

“Of fucking course I didn’t!”

“Well, there you are, then. It’s not your fault, and you’ve clearly not progressed enough to be a danger to anyone but yourself yet, so why should it bother me?”

Peter groaned, and let himself fallback onto the sofa, head on cushions, spine bent in a direction it felt like it maybe was not entirely meant to.

“What sort of a fucking vampire hunter are you, then?”

There was no reply for a moment, and Peter sat back up, frowning at Lucian hard, as if trying, telepathically, to force the answers out of him.

“Not a terribly good one, I suppose,” Lucian admitted eventually, “but one who would rather err on the side of mercy.”

Which sounded too much like a line, didn’t it? Didn’t sound like something a person would say, not really. But then, so did a lot of the stuff Lucian said.

“You’ve still not told me how the fuck you knew about me, though, from the start.”

Lucian sighed, again, and looked torn, eyes flickering between Peter’s face and some distant memory playing in the background of Lucian’s world.

“Well,” Lucian said, “the thing is… I am not, as you would say, entirely human myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'll finish this scene in the next chapter, it's just taking more time than planned, but I wanted to get something up before I have to go to work today (I'm in healthcare don't worry, not breaking quarantine and being bad) so. Have another unsatisfying sort of thing that would, if we didn't all know these two characters, be a cliffhanger. I will start writing as soon as I have downtime at my shift though.


	6. Discussions On The Loss Of Humanity Part II: Homo Lupus Lupus Sapiens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of their conversation with further revelation

“Well,” Lucian said, “the thing is… I am not, as you would say, entirely human myself.”

"Oh god, I knew it, you're a fucking vampire too, that's why you're so fucking blasé about this shit!"

Peter let himself collapse back onto the sofa, missing it by a few inches, and tumbled headfirst backwards onto the floor, where he remained. 

"Peter, you've seen me in the sunlight before. And I don't have any problems with garlic, why would you believe I'm a vampire?"

"Well, what fuck else is there, then? You a ghost? A chupacabra? I'm pretty sure you're not a zombie. A demon, a fucking piece of shit angel?"

Peter resolutely remained on the floor, one leg still on the sofa, head on the carpet.

"I am a lycan," Lucian said at last.

"And what the fuck's that mean, then? Lycan as in lycanthrope, as in werewolf?"

There was a moment of quiet before Lucian spoke again, his voice soft.

"More or less."

Which, what? Peter sat up, clawed himself up onto the sofa again, curling his legs up under him, a safe distance from Lucian, now.

"No," Peter said.

"I- what do you mean, no?"

"No, you can't be a werewolf. I've seen you during the full moon, human as anything."

"The full moon doesn't rule me as it used to," Lucian said, because he was certainly incapable of speaking like a human, which might, Peter supposed, mean he was telling the truth.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"All right. I am going to show you something, and I need you to promise me you won't panic, okay?"

"I will make no such promise," Peter replied, crossing his arms and glaring suspiciously at the supposed werewolf sitting across from him.

Lucian opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it, shrugged, relenting. And then he closed his eyes, a look of tense concentration creeping across his face like a network of vines slowly covering an ancient rock. And after a moment, he opened them.

They were wrong. They had changed, no longer hazel, no longer softly lit and reflecting that one bright lamp. The iris had spread, taking up more of the sclera, and become black. The pupils had disappeared entirely, and been replaced with an explosion of matte, pale blue. They were utterly inhuman, and it was creepy as all fuck. Peter couldn't help backing away, slowly. Even in that familiar face they looked cold and dead. Lucian opened his mouth, showing off rows of jagged fangs.

"Fuck," Peter muttered.

"Believe me now?" Lucian asked, his voice very slightly slurred by the increase in sharp, sharp teeth.

It was jarring, him speaking while looking like that. It looked like he ought to be growling, or snarling, pouncing on Peter and tearing out his throat.

"Believe you're not human, sure," Peter said, caught off guard by how much his voice was shaking, "not sure you're not just a kind of vampire I've not met yet."

Lucian cocked his head to the side and sighed, which looked odd. Human movements with inhuman features. It was. Well. Okay. It was still a good face, right, human or not. And sometimes things that were scary could be beautiful too.

"I'm not, I promise you," Lucian promised him.

"Fucking prove it, then," Peter said, wrenching hinself from the sofa and heading out into the hall. 

He picked up one of the crucifixes and the bottle of holy water, and headed back out. He left the garlic, though. The open jar had stood in the heat for about six hours now, and was probably a danger for entirely different reasons. 

"Here, catch," he told Lucian, tossing the crucifix at him.

Lucian caught it in one hand, then snarled, dropping it onto the floor. It sent a shiver down Peter's spine, and fear was only 80% of the reason why.

"See! That's a vampire response if I ever saw one!"

Pale, strange eyes just looked at him flatly for a few moments.

"It's silver," Lucian told him at last.

"Yeah?"

"Famously not the most popular metal for werewolves?"

"Oh. Uh. Sorry?"

Lucian shrugged. And why wouldn't he. This situation was already fucking weird enough. 

"Thought you had to be shot with it or something, for it to be deadly."

"I do. Well, more than that, but it's still unpleasant," Lucian said.

"Gives me a rash," he added, squinting at his palm, the skin of which was just slightly reddened.

"Oh," Peter said, again.

Feeling slightly deflated he sat back down, then handed Lucian the flask of holy water.

"Would you?"

"Why not, at this point," Lucian said, opening it and fucking drinking some of it, like a goddamned lunatic.

"Tastes holy," he said flatly and, okay, so he did have a sense of humour hiding in there somewhere.

"Right. Fine. Not a vampire. Believe you, now."

"Good. Would you have me transform into my full wolf form, too, to prove what I am?" Lucian offered, unsettling eyes on Peter.

"No thanks, I'd like not to be eaten, ideally."

"That's an offensive stereotype," Lucian said through a mouthful of fangs.

"Yeah?"

"We retain our minds when we transform. We don't eat people. Well, not much, at any rate," he said with a faint smile.

"Alarming phrasing, but go on."

"I will still be me, just larger and wolf shaped."

"All right, show me, then. I am going to get my gun with silver bullets, though. For safety, all right?"

"If it makes you feel safer."

"It does."

So he got up, and went to find the gun. It was nice, antique, and had cost a bloody fortune. He'd got it of some shady as fuck antiques dealer with a speciality in the occult, and it had only seemed to him to be mildly cursed. With it followed a set of silver bullets.

When Peter walked back into the room, he found Lucian shirtless, busy opening the clasp of his belt. He took a moment to admire his form, the sleek yet msucular build. The strength inherent in it. Which, probably there was even more inherent strength than previously assumed.

"Not that I'm not into this," Peter said, "but weren't we doing the werewolf thing now?"

"I am," Lucian told him, sliding his jeans down his hips, "my body expands with the change, and I would rather not destroy my clothes."

Okay. Sure. That made sense.

"So if you didn't, you'd like, hulk out of your shirt?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Guess werewolves aren't so up on popular culture, then."

"We have our own culture," Lucian said, removing the last of his clothing.

He was a very beautiful man. Or, well, man shaped creature, technically, he supposed. He pulled his hair loose, placing the hair tie on top of his neatly folded clothes. Peter noticed the criss cross lines across his back for the first time. Bright white scars against pale skin. He wondered what they were from. 

"It's going look upsetting," Lucian warned him, "and it will take more time than it does in films. The sounds are going to be bad. I am going to ask you again to please try not to panic so much, and please don't shoot me, however scary I may look to you. You are unlikely to be able to kill me, but getting shot with silver is really quite painful, so I would rather you not."

"I'll do my best," Peter muttered.

"And I promise you, I won't attack you, I won't hurt you. I can't speak when I am like that, but I can understand you perfectly fine, and I am still myself, okay?"

"Sure," Peter said, settling at the farend of the sofa and watching as Lucian figured out the best place to turn into a giant wolf monster.

Lucian sat down, legs crossed, head bowed, looking like he was attempting to meditate or some shit. For a moment, nothing happened. 

Suddenly he threw his head back in a silent howl, face straining with the effort, fangs pushing out, growing, his entire head changing and contorting horribly. The noises his bones made as they stretched and changed were awful, made Peter want to vomit, to close his eyes and hold his hands over his ears, but he couldn't turn away.

Black fur appeared across Lucian's skin, which was quickly turning a dark grey. He grew, neck stretching out so long, becoming thicker, fat ropes of muscle clearly visible under the skin. His nails darkened, growing out into long claws. The eyes grew also, and that was perhaps the most unsettling part of it, seeing them grow to three times their original size, becoming a glossy black throughout.

His feet had become massive paws, they too sporting long, deadly looking claws. Everything about him, really, was vast now. He rose to his feet- his paws- his hind legs? And towered over everything. Even in the tall room his huge head was close to the ceiling. And then he looked down at Peter.

It was terrifying. Those alien black eyes like a void staring down at him, the mouth open to reveal massive fangs. Peter clutched the gun like he had clutched the stuffed animal as he hid under the bed when his parents had been killed. He didn't point it up at Lucian, though. He believed him when he said he would not be able to seriously harm him.

Lucian took a step closer, and Peter pressed himself into the back of the sofa, felt how terribly fast his heart was beating. Which, he supposed, it was good to know it was still capable of such a thing. And then Lucian sunk down to all fours, bowed his head. Looked up at Peter, then down again. What was this, an invite to pet him? God that was weird. Everything about this fucking disaster of an evening was just incomprehensibly fucked up.

"Lucian?" He asked.

Lucian looked up at him, and nodded. It was such a weird motion to see coming from the enormous, terrifying creature.

"Right. You know what? I believe you now."

Lucian narrowed his eyes at him. Peter eased off the sofa, slow and careful, as if a startling move might make Lucian attack him, which made no sense, but his instincts were all screaming at him that this was a dangerous predator, and that he had to ease away until out of sight and then run. As if Lucian wouldn't be able to catch him in seconds.

"I'm gonna come a little closer, okay? Please don't eat me. Probably don't taste good anyway."

Lucian nodded again, and Peter took slow, small steps towards him. Reached out a hand as if Lucian were some sort of dog. Hesitantly touched his fingers to the top of Lucian's head. God, he was gigantic. His head alone was nearly the length of Peter's torso.

Lucian's skin felt a bit like leather, far rougher and less soft than his human form. The fur was thick and coarse, and covered only parts of his body, which seemed strange to Peter. He sank his finger into the mane like formation of fur on his head and neck, and it felt oddly good. Like petting a massive fluffy dog, but with an added element of spine chilling horror.

"This is weird. Is this weird? I don't know. Fuck, you're like, weirdly fluffy? I know that shouldn't be a surprise, wolves are typically pretty furry, but it's just... it's so very fucking weird."

Lucian, unsurprisingly, said nothing, but he leaned into Peter’s touch like a damned cat. Raised up a paw or hand, fingers elongated and clawed, yet still undeniably human in general shape, and put it on Peter’s arm. He froze.

“Sorry. It’s just, you’re very very large, and quite terrifying right now.”

Lucian, to his credit, nodded in what Peter chose to interpret as sympathy and understanding. 

“You mind changing back? If you, I mean, I assume you can? Since you said the moon ain’t the boss of you. I have some questions I don’t think can be answered with just yes or no.”

The process was almost more horrifying to watch in reverse, even though this time Lucian’s features were slowly coming back rather than being gradually obscured. It made him nauseous, but still he made himself watch the whole process. He didn’t know why, really, but he felt like he ought to. Owed it to himself or to Lucian or just to make himself believe and remember that this was all really happening, that it wasn’t some drunken fever dream. In the end though, Lucian sat before him on the floor, naked and tired looking.

“So what was the point?” 

“Of what?”

Lucian had gotten his clothes back on, but had left his hair down. The bags under his eyes were a bit more pronounced than before, but his eyes were back to a warm, reassuring hazel, all the individual elements the proper size and hue again.

“Of telling me? That you’re not human. I mean, to answer my question, sure, but you could’ve lied. Could have said you like, stole my blood off the knife and had it tested or something. You didn’t have to tell me.”

“That’s true,” Lucian agreed, “but I wanted you to know that you’re not alone. That I know what’s happening to you, and that I will try to help you deal with it. I know I’m not… It’s not the same, not all, but I thought it might help. I wasn’t going to tell you until later, originally, but then you asked me to kill you, or if I would, and I realised you had figured it out on your own.”

“What did you do?” Peter asked.

“What did I do when?”

“When you were bitten. So I guess, first time you turned into a wolf or whatever? Or when you were attacked? I’m not sure how this all works. Clearly.”

“I was never bitten. Well, not in the sense you mean. I was born like this.”

Peter stared at him over the rim of a newly topped up glass.

“How the fuck’s that happen?”

“Well, my mother was bitten by a werewolf while she carried me. I was born after she turned, while she was stuck in that form. At least that is what I was told.”

“Told?”

“She was killed shortly after my birth, as I understand it.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, that’s terrible.”

Lucian looked so very tired.

“A lot of awful things have happened to me, and that isn’t even among the particularly bad.”

“What was that like, then?” Peter asked, uncomfortable around the subject despite his own intimate familiarity with how these conversations turned weird and awkward for everyone always, “Growing up as a werewolf?”

Lucian looked at him for a moment, then turned his eyes back to his own glass.

“I’ll tell you some time. Not today, though. But please, Peter, know that my previous point still stands. I want to help you deal with this. And not by driving a stake through your heart. I know vampires can be good people.”

He swallowed, looked away, hair falling into his face enough to mostly obscure his expression, but Peter could spot a faint sheen of wetness in his eyes. 

“I told you, remember, of how vampires killed my wife and child?”

“Yeah,” Peter confirmed, “were they werewolves too?”

“Lycans,” Lucian corrected gently, “and no, they were not. My wife, she was a vampire. And our child would have been, I suppose, a hybrid, of sorts.”

Peter’s eyes widened, but he didn’t interrupt with further questions.

“And the vampire who killed her was her own father, because he could not stand the thought that she was with someone like me, that she had let a lycan sully her body with their spawn. So he let the sun burn her. Chained me up, silver spears stuck in my back, forced me to watch her die.”

“Lucian, I’m-”

“It was a long time ago,” Lucian continued, talking over Peter, “and it is as much all right as I suspect it can ever be after all these years, but my point is that there are good vampires, capable of love and kindness and infinite bravery, just as there are cruel and monstrous ones. And you get to decide what kind you will be, you understand? There are ways to get blood without killing people, and I don’t believe you will turn into a careless monster. Should you… Should become such a monster, then, I promise, I will prevent you from killing people, but I don’t think that will become necessary.”

“That’s… It’s a lot.”

It felt rather like, Peter thought, every fact and emotion was a very large boulder, and some sort of malevolent giant was hurling them constantly at him, each feeling like a punch to his heart. It was overwhelming, and he knew that if he spent too much time thinking about it he might spiral, might do something stupid so he didn’t have to deal with it.

“Yes, I understand that this has been an… eventful evening for you. And, frankly, I think you’re taking it quite well,” Lucian told him.

“Yeah? Doesn’t feel like it.”

“You are the first mortal I’ve told this to,” Lucian admitted.

“Well, not for much longer, clearly,” Peter muttered.

“No. But still. I have to admit, I thought you would react more badly to seeing me transform. I know it can be a disturbing sight to those who have not experienced it.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, “I did briefly think I was gonna throw up. Does it feel as bad as it looks?”

Lucian shrugged.

“It doesn’t feel good. But I have experienced much worse things in my life.”

“Then… Then I guess thank you, for showing me. And for… your offer of help. I don’t- I don’t know what to do. Don’t know what the fuck’s gonna happen to me, and it scares the absolute shit out of me, to be honest.”

“That’s understandable too,” Lucian said.

“I can’t tell you exactly what will happen, of course. I’m not nearly familiar enough with the kind of vampire you were bitten by, but I think you will be able to get through it.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, then, “will you stay? Tonight? Just… Listen, I know I said about sex, but I don’t think I’m up for that, to be honest. But I’d just like… To not have to be alone with my thoughts tonight.”

“Of course,” Lucian said, putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

So Peter led him into the bedroom, where they both shed most of their clothes. Peter took extra good care to secure the curtains. They were already blackout ones, to accommodate his tendency to stay up until dawn drinking, but this time he was extra careful to seal all the edges. Didn’t want to wake up on fire, after all. A last peek outside revealed that the night sky was slowly lightening, a hint of purpleish pink on the horizon.

They settled in bed, both on their sides, facing each other. Peter was trying, very hard, not to think about anything he had learned that day, to not think about anything other than the attractive man in his bed. Which with the way he was looking at him, all soft concern, wasn’t particularly difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter in well under 12 hours yeaaa. Was so superfluous at work today that they sent me home almost three hours early, because I literally had no tasks. So anyway, that kind of shit leads to efficient writing. I hope this character development and the sort of swings in mood and tone of both the dialogue and Peter's emotions make sense. They do to me, but then, my brain is full of context


	7. Lucian's Solution: An Exploration Of Questionable Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian has thoughts on Peter's newly discovered condition

Lucian watched Peter. He looked entirely human still, sprawled on his stomach, drooling into his pillow, hair falling over his face. The sheets had gotten kicked off at some point in the night. Well, some point in the morning, rather. Peter’s new night.

The previous night had, except for its disastrous nature, gone unexpectedly well. Lucian had, if he were to be honest, expected his revealing his inhuman nature to Peter to have gone violently, but instead the hunter had simply seemed a little frightened. Which was an understandable reaction. It was a while since the last time Lucian had looked in a mirror while transformed, but he was aware a fully changed lycan looked intimidating to those unused to the sight. The acceptance of his own fate, however, would likely take some time.

Lucian had little knowledge of the process of vampires being turned. The only vampire he had talked in depth to about their respective natures was Sonja, and she, of course, had been born one. Like him, she had never been a human, and had no concept of the loss of becoming something else. He knew vampires who had been bitten, of course, had known many, but as he was, at the time, a slave, he had not had cause nor desire to talk to them about such matters. He had, however, known many lycans who had been bitten, both against their will and voluntarily. But that wasn’t really the same. Granted, most were a long time ago, as he had been very clear with his pack that the bite was a gift that must be received willingly, not a curse thrust upon someone. Still, in his experience, most had wanted the blessings of it; a stop to sickness and ageing, strength, a pack. With the exception of having to avoid silver, having to, at least for the first few decades, turn at the full moon, there were no downsides. Well, perhaps the war with the vampires, but that was hardly the fault of their species. At least not any more than it was Lucian’s personal responsibility.

Peter shifted in his sleep, muttering something incoherent, and rolling over, so his face was pressed into Lucian’s shoulder. So he moved, shifting onto his side, let Peter cuddle closer to him. His skin felt cool against Lucian’s, though not unnaturally so, not yet. Lucian stroked his side, enjoying the feeling of being this close to someone, this calmly. It had been a long time, now, since he had taken a lover. There were people in his pack with whom he had slept with some regularity, but of course, they were all gone now. While some of the lycans still lived, they had spread, no longer feeling safe in Budapest, and who was Lucian to blame them? He himself had fled, being tempted after those few horrible days, to return to his previous long held status as presumed dead. And with the place that held his supposed corpse gone up in flames, there was little evidence of his continued existence. It did make some things more difficult, though, of course. 

He had tried to contact Tanis earlier, his supplier of UV light bullets, but had not managed to do so, and Lucian had begun to suspect he was dead. This was unfortunate, as he would have been the ideal source of procuring synthetic blood. It was, after all, a vampiric invention, not yet known of by humans, and as such quite hard to get hold of. But he suspected it might be the source of sustenance that would bother Peter the least.

He knew how to get blood, of course, it wasn’t particularly hard. Even human blood presented less of a challenge, with the brilliant human innovation of blood banks. This might present an ethical dilemma for Peter, Lucian wasn’t sure. He might not wish to take resources away from the people who depended on willingly given blood to survive, but then, he would soon become one of those people himself. Just in a different manner than the humans.

The whole situation felt strange to Lucian. He wasn’t sure why he had come to care so strongly for the decreasingly human hunter, why he had taken one look at him, smelled the lingering vampiric traces on him, and decided that he felt, somehow, responsible for this twice over vampire hunter, both of whose jobs were becoming increasingly ironic by the day.

Obviously, Peter was handsome. He was charming in a sort of strange way, equal parts overconfident swagger and poorly hidden vulnerability shining through the cracks. He shared Lucian’s vampire induced trauma, albeit in different form. And he tried, he tried so very hard to be good at hunting, although he still had a long way to go. Granted, he had not been at it for more than a year or two, and Lucian had more than half a millennium of experience fighting vampires. Sharing their powers, though, ought to help. Removed the risk of being bitten during a fight, although not, perhaps, in the desired manner.

Lucian was debating when to offer Peter the gift of becoming a hybrid. One the one hand, perhaps earlier was better, the less time for the vampirism took take hold, but on the other hand, few humans survived it. Perhaps the competing concoction of infections would kill him, perhaps he would be left with the flaws of both rather than the powers. Perhaps he would be weak to both silver and sun, rather than neither. And he might, of course, refuse it. Might think that becoming two kinds of monster was worse than one. And since he was not bitten by a corvine vampire, the afflictions might not even be compatible at all. Lucian might offer him what could seem a salvation, but in reality was his doom.

“Mngh,” Peter said into Lucian’s chest, “gwæh.”

“Good morning,” Lucian told him, resisting the urge to place a kiss on the top of his head.

He didn’t think they were quite there yet, though he would like it if that eventually happened. Peter blinked in the warm darkness of the room, squinting up at Lucian for a few moments and the abruptly pulling away, as if burnt.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to get all up in your… Uh. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind at all, Peter,” Lucian assured him with a smile, “did you sleep well?”

“Eeeeh,” Peter said, rubbing at his eyes, spreading traces of eyeliner further across his face, “not really. Dreamt that I ate my foster family. Wasn’t great.”

“Yes,” Lucian said, “I thought we ought to talk about that. Well, not your eating your family-”

“Foster family,” Peter interjected pointedly.

“Right. Not your eating them, but how you are going to feed, when you eventually have to. On blood, I mean.”

Peter looked nauseous.

“Already hate the thought of breakfast enough, now you have to talk about this shit?”

“It is four in the afternoon, Peter.”

“Breakfast is just whatever the first thing you eat is,” Peter pointed out.

“All right. I am sorry, but it is quite important. There are three options for you, I think. The ideal, perhaps, would be synthetic blood, but my only contact among the vampires has gone off the grid. I’m not sure whether he is dead or simply laying low, but sadly I think we cannot rely on that option. Not, perhaps, without going back to Europe to figure out how to get it.”

“Is that like… The blood of robots?”

“What?”

“Synthetic blood?”

Lucian frowned at him, trying to work out whether or not this was one of Peter’s attempts at humour. If so, he wasn’t entirely sure he understood it.

“No. It’s a liquid that has all the properties of human blood, which can sustain vampires, allowing them something closer to the taste of human blood, without all the mess of actually killing people and invoking the wrath of local human mobs.”

“Wait,” demanded Peter, “hold on. If this stuff exists, why would any vampire feed on humans?”

“Well, the vampires who created it are the only ones who know how to produce it. And they’re already rich in human terms, they have no desire to spread it. Besides, many vampires enjoy the hunt.”

“Huh. So if we go to Europe, you think we might be able to find it? You’d help me to that?”

“Yes,” Lucian confirmed, “but as I said, that will take time to plan and execute.”

“Huh. Right. What are the other options, then?”

“Well. There’s animal blood. That’s the easiest. You can buy it, I think, in your human shops. It’s perfectly edible, but may not feel as satisfying as human blood. But you will be able to live on it, I think. Again, I am not entirely familiar with the sort of vampire that bit you. But I think probably animal blood will be an option. You could also, of course, hunt animals, but that is more work, and you will leave a lot of animal carcasses around that might be noticed. I’ve gone hunting in the area, and it’s entirely possible, but I don’t know whether that’s what you would prefer.”

“I think if I can just like. Add it to my grocery delivery I’m gonna try that one first.”

“Quite. And the third option, is human blood. Now, obviously I am not suggesting that you start hunting humans, but there are blood banks that can be robbed, or, if you are uncomfortable with such direct crime, I am sure that with your wealth, you will be able to find someone working in the relevant industry who you can pay off to get you some.”

“Huh,” Peter said, “yeah. I’m gonna… Gonna have to think about that one. Feel like trying the animal blood first is a good start, yeah.”

“That is likely wise, I agree. And I do think you should try to get hold of some before it becomes… necessary for you. To avoid you accidentally hurting someone, or starve.”

“Yeah,” Peter muttered, and grabbed a pillow, burying his face in it.

“God, this is going to be a whole thing, isn’t it? Drinking blood, dying in the sun. Am I gonna become invisible in mirrors too?”

“I don’t… I don’t think so,” Lucian said, “although I don’t know. I think, likely, you won’t, and your will be able to keep your ego.”

“Hey,” Peter protested.

Lucian just smiled at him. He did so very much like this strange man. Peter emerged from the pillow for a moment, to look at him.

“Thank you, again. I really appreciate you, well, everything. Don’t quite understand it, I admit, but thank you, still.”

“It is no matter. You didn’t choose to become this, and so you should not have to become something worse than you need to be. Not all who appear monstrous to human eyes behave in the expected manner. You don’t need to become some evil thing. And I- Well. There is an option I would like to discuss with you at a later time. It’s not a cure, before you ask. There’s no such thing, but it is something that might help… mitigate the symptoms of your condition.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. But as I said, I do think you ought to have some time, first, to come to terms with everything, so you can make an informed decision about it.”

“Well, why wouldn’t I choose it, if it means being less of a monster?” Peter demanded, propping his head up on his arms, looking at Lucian with a confused frown.

And of course he had to ask that, didn’t he? He had to use that word, although so had Lucian. Had to focus on the innate inhumanity in them now. And who knew, after all, how it would work? If it could?

“Because,” Lucian said, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder, trying to project a calm he knew wouldn’t get through, knew wouldn’t help Peter, “it involves me biting you.”


	8. God Damn These Bite Marks, Deep In My Arteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter, free of the constraints of social contact, ruminates

The ice cubes clinked against the glass as Peter stirred his iced cappuccino, the reflected sunlight glinting off them. He was sitting in a cafe, legs curled up under him on the seat in a manner that had made the barista give him a pained look. Presumably it was her job to clean up when the place closed. He had gone straight out, when Lucian had told him about the whole biting thing. Hadn’t let him explain, it was all just- just too much. 

“Just- I mean, stay, or leave, or, I don’t know, do whatever you want, Lucian, I just need… Need some time to think, all right?” he had said, before pulling on the previous night’s clothes and rushing out the door.

Had it been rash? Sure. Probably. But Lucian could deal, couldn’t he? He seemed like the understanding type, and he had himself said it was for Peter’s own sake he had not intended to reveal the plan to him before. And so, he was here, sipping his coffee and regretting his decision to put sugar in it.

The sun was just about to set, safety just about to reappear. Of course, it didn’t burn him yet. Not any more than it had done just after he had moved out to Nevada, anyway, when his skin was at its most English and delicate. It had gotten worse again now, his skin red and dry after just ten minutes of exposure to the sabotaging star. He had felt it walking the few blocks from his building to this place. It wasn’t his favourite, but it was close and only moderately overpriced and he had only been thrown out once.

On the table in front of him was a small and very overpriced notebook, all thick cream paper and leather binding, and a funny shaped pen, equally ridiculously expensive. He had been writing out a list, the pros and cons of being a vampire. It was in the same section as he kept his notes for ideas for his show, should anyone accidentally find it. Could he have kept this in a password protected file on his phone? Yes. But that wouldn’t have allowed him to decorate a full spread with doodles of Lucian’s weird werewolf eyes. Because they were lovely, despite their creepiness.

On the list of pros so far he had immortality and super strength, but he wasn’t sure what else there could be. In some vampire media they had all kinds of powers. Mind reading, turning into mist and wolves and bats, hypnosis, flight, being able to crawl on ceilings and more. And yeah, all right, being able to fly did sound cool, but he didn’t think that was the kind of vampire Jerry was. 

The list of cons was longer. He would have to give up his career. Maybe not at once, because he did, after all, work nights, and besides being pale, already expected of a goth, he was likely to keep looking mostly human most of the time. And it wasn’t like he used real weapons that could hurt him in the show. But eventually. He would stop ageing, of course, if he lived long enough. That would be weird. But it would also mean he could never stay in one play for too long, which wasn’t too bad, but he really did like his show. How long could he make it last? A decade more, maybe? Before it got weird? Of course, his show had only been going a couple years, so far, and who was top say how long he’d continue to be profitable, anyway. So that was all right, he supposed.

Another con was that, barring accidentally going out in the sun or meeting a particularly dedicated hunter, he would live long enough to see everyone he cared for die. Which, that list was quite short, these days, wasn’t it? He had acquaintances, hundreds of them, but did he have many true friends? The answer was depressing. He supposed he’d be sad to see Charley and Amy grow old and die, but it’s not like they were close, really. The two kids were off to uni out of the state, and mostly kept in contact via the occasional email or text. He didn’t see his foster family much, hadn’t been back to visit since he moved here, except once for the funeral of a younger foster sister, who’d driven her bike off a cliff. Which had been sad, of course, but he couldn’t help but think he’d have done the same if he had stayed in that godforsaken village, if he hadn’t managed to, at least for the first eight years, escape from under Jerry’s threatening shadow.

Well, there was… God, it was far too fucking early to be thinking about shit like this, but he couldn’t help himself. There was Lucian. Who was so kind and caring and hot and lovely and very good, sex-wise _and_ vampire hunting-wise. And okay, he was a werewolf, which, that was something Peter would deal with later, but like. He could see it working. If he himself didn’t fuck it up, he could see them lasting a while. But looking at it like he would watch Lucian age and die? No, that was too weird. He’d never been in a relationship lasting longer than a few years, and he couldn’t really see that changing now. That was a problem for future Peter, if he still lived. Or unlived. 

And the sun? He was going to miss the sun. Miss bright afternoons spent outside. He didn’t, really, spend much time outside in the daytime, at least not unless he stayed out drinking until after dawn, but he liked the idea of being able to. Given the way he lived, he was more or less nocturnal already, and it would be no large feat to make sure any meetings could take place inside, with shutters drawn. The rich and famous were allowed, after all, their eccentricities. Also, really, what meeting couldn’t happen just as efficiently via skype?

Then there was the blood drinking. That was unfortunate, but if he, as Lucian suggested, could live off synthetic or animal blood, then that wasn’t too bad, was it? Synthetic blood would just be like that one awful, awful week he had exclusively subsisted on Soylent, at least unless he, iZombie-like, would be able to combine blood with other food. It was worth an experiment. And was animal blood really more unethical to eat than animal meat? Surely, if anything, making sure the blood got used was better? But if he had to feed on humans, though. Well, as Lucian had said, blood banks. It wasn’t ideal, but it could work. 

This was all, of course, moot if he could not control himself. Lucian seemed, optimistically, to believe in him, which Peter felt was a questionable choice. He didn’t even believe in himself most of the time, but that did not seem to stop the very sweet wolf man. But god, he had seen the horrific ways Jerry’s face stretched and contorted, cracking open to become all inhuman mouth. The thought of his own face doing that made him feel sick. The thought of the craving for blood, the thirst, becoming so much he could no longer deal with it, no longer keep from harming a human.

Peter didn’t have a great track record as far as impulse control went. He had tried most of the fun was to destroy his life and his body, not really stopping to think of the consequences. What was, after all, the point in a life spent fearing the repercussions of doing any of the fun stuff? He had already lost everything, so what more was there to lose? If he didn’t build a life he couldn’t lose it. It was a life style which had served him well so far. So if he couldn’t resist some shady guy at a party with suspiciously unidentifiable pills, how would he resist a far more powerful drug that rested within the veins of everyone he met?

He rested his chin on his hand as he doodled what he remembered of Lucian’s wolf form from the night before; a massive hulking shape, entirely unlike any wolf he had seen. It had been frightening, of course, terrifying, but exciting too. Hadn’t made him as scared as he was, well, scared it would. And he couldn’t help but wonder about what it would be like, being such a creature, being able to be free of his human body, and just… Just being. Only it wasn’t really like that, was it? He had always thought that turning into a werewolf or becoming possessed by a demon might be a little bit like freedom. Like someone else taking the reins for a while, while you got to rest. Like dreaming. Had even liked that aspect of it, though not all the murdering and eating people, of course. But according to Lucian your brain and mind stayed just the same. It was a strange concept.

And what would being a hybrid be like? Would he still have to avoid the sun? Would he still need to drink blood? Would he be what, less immortal? How did that even work? What if he just got all the cons and none of the pros from either? He wondered whether Lucian had much experience with the concept, other than his never born child.

His mobile buzzed loudly against the table.

 **Lucian:** Are you okay Peter?

 **Lucian:** I have procured some of the consumable matter of which we talked earlier this afternoon. Would have left it at your place but I do not have a key. Come by my flat to pick it up when you can.

Could the man sound more like a completely inept drug dealer if he tried? But it was sweet of him, doing that, and so quickly. God, what did he even see in Peter? He wasn’t interested at all in his fame or fortune, which was rare. And okay, fair, he did seem to appreciate Peter’s looks, which he was used to, but that wasn’t enough of a draw, was it? To do all this? To explain to him, take care of him like he did? Peter wasn’t used to people taking a chance on him, not in this way, not emotionally. Economically, sure, yeah, he got that, but this? It made him feel too many things. And not exclusively with his dick, which was worrying. His heart was in the process of stopping for good, but it had to get in one last-

“Excuse me, Sir? We’re closing now.”

Shit. Had it been that long? The sky outside was a rapidly darkening purple, and when he looked around he was, in fact, the only one left in the café, other than the broom wielding barista from earlier.

“Uh, right, sorry,” he muttered, gathering his things into his pockets and swallowing the watery room temperature remnants of his coffee.

He walked out into the hot air, and somehow it felt better now, not just from the lack of heat, but he felt clearer, like a fog had lifted from his mind. He wasn’t entirely sure what part was no longer obscured, but all his senses felt slightly sharper, now. Maybe it was all placebo, just in his brain, just he talking himself into thinking the inevitable changes had gone further than he thought, but it certainly felt real enough where he stood. Felt like he could see for miles, like he could hear the heartbeats of everyone around him, like he could smell the sweet sweet nectar that flowed within their ve- what the fuck. Nope. He’d watched too many vampire films. This wasn’t him, wasn’t it. No, he had better figure this shit the fuck out before he started wearing the cape costumes from his show.

 **Peter:** hey, ill be over in a little bit, ok? & thanks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm assuming there is like an almost 100% overlap between people reading this fic and people who've read my other Lucian/Peter fic, this is a reasonably rare pair, after all, so I am trying not to repeat myself too much here.


	9. Peter Learns A Lot And It's All Confusing And Upsetting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is 80% exposition and 20% sex. Sexposition, if you will.

Peter had jumped him the moment Lucian had let him in. It wasn't bad, but it was a little unexpected, being pinned to the door as soon as he'd closed it behind him, Peter's mouth hot and wet on his. Peter hands already tangling in his hair, pushing up the hem of his shirt. But Lucian was trying to live in the moment, to not find excuses to avoid doing things he wanted these days, and, well. He did quite badly want to do Peter. Which was how they had gotten to this point

Peter was straddling him, Lucian's cock deep inside him, his skin slick with sweat, his eyes closed in concentration. His hands were on Lucian's chest, steady himself for support, and Lucian's were on him. One on Peter's hip, encouraging him, another around his cock, stroking, urging Peter towards the release he seemed, to be honest, perfectly capable of hurtling towards on his own. Lucian thrust up into Peter as much as he was capable of in this position, just needing more, needing to get closer, deeper-

Lucian felt Peter clench around him, movements stilling, his release spilling over Lucian's hand and stomach, and he moved his other hand to Peter's hip too, thrusting up a few times, getting closer, then, finally, feeling that rush of release. He looked up at Peter throughout, seeing as his eyes opened back up that they had gone completely black. He did not appear to have noticed

Peter eased himself off Lucian's cock and collapsed down half on top of him.

"We'll get cleaned up later, yeah, just need a moment," he murmured into Lucian's chest. 

And who was Lucian to argue? No one now, clearly, as Peter had seemingly fallen asleep on top of him. He really was a very strange man. It had been about five hours since they had woken up together, but then, it didn't seem unlikely that the gradual transformation required a lot of energy. Perhaps the blood Lucian had gotten earlier would help.

Peter's skin was warm against his still, but the beating of his heart slower than it should be even in the depth of slumber. Lucian ran a hand soothing up and down Peter's back though mostly for his own sake. He knew the process was rough on him and he felt, inexplicably, guilty. It wasn't like there was anything he could have done, of course. The damage had been done years before the two of them even met, though clearly the remnants of vampire blood had been reactivated in him somehow. Still, that couldn't be Lucian's fault. The process had already started when they met.

He wondered if he should have told Peter at once. It was the only thing he could have done differently, really, that would have had any amount of effect, but somehow he didn't think it would have helped. Peter didn't trust him yet, back then, and rightly so. Besides, coming from someone who also hunted vampires, would it not have sounded like a threat? You are becoming the thing we hunt? Yeah, it had probably been a good call to wait, even if doubtlessly Peter would have appreciated some time to get used to the idea before becoming more explicitly symptomatic.

Peter's eyes blinked open, and they were still black voids, only the slightest hint of light in the corners. Lucian reached out to retrieve his mobile from the night stand.

"Here," he said, opening the camera, "have a look at your eyes, Peter."

"Oh, what the shit? When the fuck did that happen?"

"Uh, at, I believe, the moment of climax..."

Peter dropped the mobile onto the bed, burying his face in Lucian's chest anew and groaning. 

"Peter, you don't- you don't need to be embarrassed, it's perfectly natural to lose control a little bit when you're, ah, in the heat of it."

Peter groaned again, but rolled off him enough to look into his eyes, eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

"'S weird. So so very weird, Lucian."

Lucian closed his eyes for a moment, concentrated, letting them change, letting his fangs grow in. It always felt a bit odd, doing it on purpose, rather than it happening naturally in times of, well. Times of high emotion and stress.

"It's not so weird," he assured Peter, opening pale eyes to look at him, "you are not alone in this."

"Lucian," Peter said, voice very serious, "I don't know how to tell you this, but you being a werewolf is- a lycan, sorry, is in fact deeply weird too."

Which Lucian couldn't really argue with, after all. Being the first of his species, entirely unique, undying, well, it was certainly not particularly normal. But at least there was a hint of a smile on Peter's lips now, and if the way Lucian could make Peter feel better was by being weird, then, well, that was fine, he supposed.

"Look, can I ask you something?" Peter asked, moving until his head was resting next to Lucian's on the pillow, inhuman sets of eyes meeting.

"Of course."

"Why are you doing this?"

Lucian looked down at Peter's naked body, still half draped over his own, then back up at Peter.

"No, idiot, not the sex, I- this makes me sound like a fucking narcissist, but I've slept with enough people to be pretty sure I'm hot, all right? I mean the... The helping me. Cause you don't have to, there's no... No real reason you should, right? And I can't quite make sense of it, why when you met me, when you, I guess, smelled what was wrong with me? fuck, that sounds weird when you say it out loud, doesn't it. I don't understand why you didn't either kill me or like, just leave, fuck off and decide it wasn't your problem."

Dark eyes, almost like his own when he was fully transformed, stared at him, pleading, although Lucian wasn't sure for what.

"Did you not want me to?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"No! I mean yeah, I mean, course I did- do. I'm grateful for it, really, but I just don't understand it."

Lucian sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

"I had... Did I tell you about what happened ten years ago?"

"A little," Peter said, "mostly that it was bad, and that a lot of people died. And that you did, almost."

"It was the culmination of a war I started, a long time before."

Peter frowned, but didn't ask further, just kept looking at him, all rapt attention.

"Look, I did things in the advance of the cause of the lycans that I... regret. People were hurt. Though I did not start this war, I was the reason it was begun by my adversary. And though I do not regret that my actions led to the swift death of the adversary, the man who killed my wife, who hunted me for so many years, I do regret the pain I caused to innocents in the process. And so, after a decade of being on my own, thinking about all the mistakes I made, I suppose... I suppose I saw you as someone I could help with what was- what is happening to you. And it's- It is not just me feeling guilty, Peter, I do hope you know that by now. I like you, and I do very much want to help you find the least painful way to cope with this new situation."

As Peter listened his eyes had faded back to their normal human colours.

"So I'm your what? Redemption story?"

He didn't say it like it was an accusation. It felt like one, anyway.

"You are emblematic of my decision to start trying to be a person who can help people on an individual level, rather than fighting some never ending war to attain some ideal of peace and unity that has never happened in the history of our species, and may never happen again. To stop- Well. It's too late for that now, of course, but never again to use humans as dispensable pawns in what I do."

"You used to do that? See us as dispensable?"

Peter sounded just slightly hurt now, but like he was carefully controlling his voice, trying hard not to give it away. Which was fair, wasn't it. Still, Peter was staying, one of his legs still thrown over Lucian's, fingers still playing distractedly with his hair.

"Well, perhaps as worthy sacrifices? No, that's not right. As incidental, perhaps, as not relevant. Not that- I mean, most lycans are bitten, more than are born. Most of the members of my pack were human at some point or other. It's... You have to understand, I was raised among vampires, the only member of my species until they forced me to infect humans. For so many years I knew only what my masters told me, that we lycans were filthy, disgusting beasts, that we were meant only to serve the vampires."

Now Peter looked only confused, and Lucian realised that he had said, perhaps, more than he had intended to. But if it could help him understand, perhaps it was worth it.

"So in my long, long quest to fight for the rights and safety of my people, of lycans, I have not sufficiently considered the impact this fight might have had on humans. You, they, are so completely separate, these days. Before, back home, the humans used to know what we were. Would pay the vampires, supply them with silver from their mines, to protect them from the more feral werewolves."

Peter was looking quite lost, now, which was not ideal.

"What do you mean before? Like when you were a kid?"

"Then too, I presume, but I mean throughout the fourteenth century, really, the-"  
"I thought you said you were the first?"

"I was. The first lycan. But my predecessors, the more feral werewolves, who were locked in their wolf forms, and whose minds seemingly transformed too. They were wiped out, tragically, some time after the renaissance." 

"I'm sorry, _what_?"

Lucian frowned.

"Which part is unclear?"

"It sounds like- Didn't you say your mum was one of those?"

"Yes?"

"And they died out four hundred years ago?"

"Well, I mean, the renaissance was more like six hundred years ago, but yes, that's right."

"So you are how old?"

"About 806."

"Eight hundred and six. Years?"

"Yes?"

"What? What the actual FUCK, Lucian?"

"I'm- I'm sorry?"

"You're nearly a thousand years old."

"Well. Soon, I suppose, yes."

Peter buried his face in the mattress. Lucian, less invested in this part of the discussion about which Peter seemed to care passionately for some reason, was becoming increasingly aware of the sticky, drying mixture of cum and lube drying on both them and the sheets. This didn't, however, seem to be the moment to bring it up.

"I thought you were like... 35," Peter muttered, sounding dumbfounded.

"Well, we don't age in the way that humans do."

"No! Clearly fucking not! Fucking christ."

"Are you... Peter, are you all right? Do you... Mind? Is it weird for you?"

Peter looked up at him, eyes wide and frantic.

"Course it's fucking weird for me! I didn't- I mean. I thought... You're like..."

He squinted, brow creasing.

"768 years older than me," he concluded several minutes later.

"Yes," Lucian agree, "this is why I did not inform you of this when we met, I thought you might find it... Strange."

"I mean, why would werewolves even be immortal? Doesn't make sense. Doesn't happen in any of the films."

This conversation was not going where Lucian was planning at all, but apparently there were many things about himself he had not thought to reveal that became surprising even after his revelation of his true nature to Peter. Humans really did not know a lot about even their most common and cherished myths. 

"Because both lycan and vampire bloodlines, at least these two, stem from a single immortal. He had two sons, one who was bitten by a bat, another who was bitten by a wolf. And from there, well, our two species sprung."

"That makes no sense," Peter informed him.

"Things don't always do, no."

"Do those vampires you're, whatever, related to, do they turn into great big bats?"

"They do not."

"No sense," Peter insisted.

"Sorry we disappoint you," Lucian told him, with just a hint of a smile.

"Can't even react to any of this shit any more," Peter complained, "it's just so much and so very, very weird, and I don't... I don't know what to do with any of this information."

"It's okay," Lucian told him, pulling him closer, burying his face in Peter's hair, "you don't have to. I know it's a lot to learn about, even for someone who already knows about the supernatural. We will figure it out together."

"Yeah?"

"I promise."

So, laying there together on the bed, Lucian told him the story of himself and his people, from when he met Sonja, through the conflict, the freeing of the lycans, and her death, and the war that had followed.


	10. A Great, Unstable, Mass of Blood and Foam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just, like, Blood.

“How is it?”

Peter grimaced around the spoonful of blood he had just put into his mouth. Lucian had heated it up to exactly 37 degrees, hoping that the right temperature would help. Peter made a face as he swallowed, putting the spoon back into the mug of pigs blood. 

“It’s not great. It’s all…” he gestured vaguely, “sort of like licking a spoon, but just slightly meaty in a very unpleasant way.”

On the small kitchen island, which was, really, only about three centimetres shy of being just a shelf, sat two mugs of warm blood, as well as a plate of various bloody meat products. Peter had already tried the blood sausage (weirdly sweet and spicy, Lucian, why are there raisins in this?), a steak so rare it had barely touched the pan at all (good, could do with a bit of cooking, but this is just human food, right?), and just some straight up raw meat, of which Peter had not been a fan, and which Lucian, ever helpful, had finished for him.

“Yeah, it’s not the best. I would have tried to get more variety, but the shop only had one kind. Want to try the human?”

“And this came from a willing donor, yeah?”

“Promise,” Lucian assured him, “though the person in question did perhaps not know that the one needing their blood wanted to consume it. Still. Willingly given.”

“Good,” Peter said, “yeah. All right. Human blood. The depths I have sunk to.”

Lucian put his hand over Peter’s, squeezing it.

“It’s not your fault what has happened to you, Peter. You are not in the wrong for attempting to feed without hurting anyone.”

“I know. I know. Still. Feels weird.”

Peter took the final mug, looking into its crimson contents with trepidation. Stuck the spoon into it, stirring a little. It made no discernable difference. He took a deep breath, and spooned some into his mouth. Like the last attempt, he made a face, though Lucian didn’t think this one was on purpose. His eyes went black, and his face seemed to split, to open up, his mouth expanding until it took up most of his face, filled with sharp needle teeth. His skin went deadly pale, thick blue veins becoming visible through it. Peter seemed to sense something was wrong, running his tongue over the teeth, eyes widening, spoon clinking against the floor when it fell. 

“Chw-”

Peter tried to speak, but all he could produce were choked hisses. His hands were on his face, his heart beating so fast and hard inside him it seemed loud to Lucian. 

“Hey, Peter, it’s okay, it will go back to normal, I promise.”

Peter did not seem convinced, close to hyperventilating now, his shoulders shaking, making more of those choked hisses. Lucian got to his feet, folding Peter into a tight embrace, a hand rubbing at his back.

“You’re fine,” he promised, “just your body reacting to your first taste of human blood. It’s going to go back to normal soon. Just try to breathe, okay?”

He felt Peter’s exaggerated slow breaths against his neck. Petted his fingers through short, brown hair, resisting the impulse to kiss Peter. Not the time. There was a brush of just the edges of multitudes of fangs against the skin of his throat.

“I know this isn’t on purpose Peter, but trust me, you can’t consume Lycan blood. It’s not good for you, will only make you sick.”

Another choked hiss which he felt as much as heard.

“I know,” he replied, “it’s all right, Peter.”

He held him out so he could see his face. It was still strange and distorted, utterly inhuman, but it was also Peter. Not Peter as he wanted to be seen, but it reminded him, the whole situation, of that first time Sonja watched him transform. How he felt so ready to see her revulsion at having to see his true nature. He remembered, too, how she had looked up at him with nothing but kindness, and how that had been, perhaps, the first seed to his accepting who he was. To no longer viewing himself as part of a race which deserved its subjugation. And so he leaned in to place a kiss on Peter’s cheek, seeing his eyes widening even further, black pools staring at him, then slowly fading. His wide mouth, too, shrunk down to its normal human size, his skin regaining the little colour it had, his teeth flattening. There was just the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

“Blergh,” Peter said, moving his face and mouth around, as if to check all the parts were back where they belonged, their shape back to normal.

He looked away from Lucian, then, down at the bloody spoon on the floor. Lucian gave him a few moments, to have whatever uncomfortable thoughts he seemed to be in the midst of, before he asked.

“How do you feel?”

“Violated,” Peter muttered.

“Uh, not, err, not by you kiss- by Jerry. By the monster that’s trying to take me over, I mean.”

“I promise you, Peter, you will not turn into a monster. You are too good of a man for that.”

Peter scoffed at that, a bitter laugh escaping him.

“Very well, then. I won’t let you. Is that satisfactory?”

Peter raised his head, then, to look up at him.

“Actually… Yeah, actually, that is… That is kind of reassuring.”

“Good,” Lucian said decisively.

“Do you… Do you want to finish the blood? I know it’s not very tempting, but you’ve been looking exhausted, sleeping so much, I believe it could give you some more energy. Help your body deal with this transformation more easily.”

Peter shook his head, looking nauseated. Lucian picked up the mug of pigs blood, draining half of it. Blood might not be a necessity for lycans, but it was still good. Still gave a hint of that feeling of tearing into a living body with his fangs, of devouring fresh life. Well, not quite, this had gotten a bit too cool over the last few minutes, but still. Peter looked at him with confusion and poorly disguised disgust.

“I was raised by vampires,” Lucian told him, “when we were rewarded we were allowed some fresh blood, rather than cold, raw meat. It’s. I mean, it tastes good. To me, at least.”

“What, human blood too?”

“Yes,” Lucian admitted.

He had not fed on humans often, but there had been times. On battle fields, after taking down a particularly stubborn human warrior, he had occasionally torn into their body with his jaws more than perhaps was necessary. He had tried the same with the vampires, but their flesh tasted lifeless, foul. 

“Gross, but okay,” Peter said, pushing the other mug towards him.

“I’m gonna stick with the not liquid blood, I think, for as long as I can. It’s just… It’s too much, I can’t deal with… With that happening again, not until it has to.”

The unfortunate thing, Lucian thought, as he finished the pigs blood and started on the human, was that human blood tasted a little bit like life itself. He wasn’t sure whether this was really the case or simply the unfortunate result of two centuries worth of vampiric indoctrination, but it didn’t change the facts.

“I think it will happen again, unfortunately, but less so the more used to blood you get. And it really will help strengthen you, but as long as you can still consume human foods I think you should get through it on that, even if it will never be quite the same.”

Peter rested his head in his hands, looking down at the few scattered crimson drops on the island top before him. Lucian could almost see the creature within squirming beneath his skin. Well, not that there was a separate Peter, an infection personified, just his new nature making itself known, a part of him he would have to accept in order to be able to control it, just as Lucian had had to accept the wolf before he had learned to fully control his changes.

“’S not fair,” Peter muttered.

“It’s not,” Lucian agreed.

“Do you want me to look into going to Europe to try to get hold of some synthetic blood? Perhaps even the recipe, or whatever the equivalent term for chemistry is?”

“You’d do that?” Peter asked, big browns eyes looking up at Lucian.

“Yes. As I’ve said, Peter, if you will let me, I want to help you in whatever way I can.”

“Except with a stake.”

“Except that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reread a few chapters of that one underworld novelization for this, and consumed blood sausage, which, suprisingly good followed by being really nauseating within minutes. I too fail to understand the inclusion of raisins. Anyway, I just really love Lucian and Sonja, treating each other's wounds and falling in love in that desolate ossuary. Peak gothic romance.


	11. Lucian Has Both Feelings and Emotions At Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much as the title implies

Lucian sat scrolling through his phone on Peter’s sofa, as the hunter took an angry nap with his head in Lucian’s lap. He had just had a phone meeting with his manager about getting a few weeks off from his show, which hadn’t gone particularly well. It had ended with Peter shouting into the phone that what were they going to do if he just left? Replace him? Whose name was on the fucking posters? After which he had tossed his phone onto the, luckily carpeted, floor, and collapsed sulkily onto Lucian.

Peter had been to stubborn to try drinking more blood, refusing to do so before it became absolutely necessary, and as a result he was not doing too well. He had very little energy, he was barely getting through his shows, spending the rest of his time sleeping, or laying, too still and unmoving to be natural, watching TV. Lucian had offered to go back to Europe on his own, in order to try to obtain the synthetic blood, to bring it back. It would, perhaps be easier, but Peter had been anxious about the idea of being left here alone, with no one he could turn to when his condition intensified. He hadn’t said out right, nothing so direct, but he kept finding increasingly flimsy excuses for why it was a bad idea, so Lucian stayed. 

They saw a lot of each other these days. Well, Lucian saw a lot of Peter, and Peter spent a lot of time napping on top of Lucian. It seemed like he had decided the lycan was the safest person to be around, someone who he was unlikely to be able to accidentally hurt, and he didn’t like being alone these days. He had told Lucian he had woken up in the middle of the night, gone into his bathroom, and then seen his face all “messed up and vampiric and toothy” in the mirror and scared the absolute shit out of himself. And, well, Lucian could understand how that was unsettling. 

It was strange, the distortion of his features, into something more explicitly monstrous. It was entirely different from the vampires he had known, who, at worst, turned into dried husks when they went into the ground for decades or centuries at a time. And Lucian supposed he ought to understand it, to know the feeling given what the change did to him, given the way the fully transformed lycans were often perceived as monstrously shaped, rather than simply wolf-like. But this had been what his body did his entire life, and, more crucially, it had taken him centuries to not look at this aspect of himself as a curse, as something that made him lesser, and so he refused to view it like that again.

He wondered, sitting there, a hand petting through Peter’s hair, what Sonja would think of this. She was always so terribly kind, so understanding of the plight of others, even when they acted against her. He remembered the way she had felt for the humans with their short lifespans mere hours after members of that very species had murdered her mother in front of her, how she had seen the worth in him and his fellow lycans when he himself had yet to do so, when he hated what he was, and the other members of his species so much. It had been a dark time.

Probably, he thought, Sonja would approve of him helping Peter. How would she have felt about his sleeping with him? About the feelings he had for him, the growth of which was hard to deny, even for himself? Surely she would want him to be happy? He hadn’t let the memory of her keep him from having sex with other people, not after the first few years, at any rate. He didn’t often. As a leader of his pack the power dynamic was always an issue, and there weren’t really other groups of lycans than his own for a long time. But still. There had never really been a relationship. Just pack-mates with benefits, as one of the younger lycans had referred to it.

Lucian’s hand went up to his chest, forgetting still, after a whole decade, that he no longer had Sonja’s amulet, that someone, thinking him dead, had taken it from his body. It wasn’t terribly important, but he missed it. Missed having something concrete of hers to touch, some kind of talisman. He used to touch it, to let his fingers run over the intricate carvings when he spoke to the representation of her that lived in his mind, when he needed the advice she might have given had she yet lived. Because he did feel a bit guilty about this, about being so close to another, and to another person becoming a vampire, as well. It had been six centuries since her death, and he wasn’t over it, wasn’t over her. However eternal his life might be he didn’t think he ever would be.

Peter stirred in his lap, murmured something entirely unintelligible, and turned over, his face now pressed into Lucian’s stomach. And seeing him feel so safe with Lucian, so comfortable as to move closer to him even when unconscious, it felt thrilling, almost. Filled Lucian with a warmth and joy and sort of prickling sensation moving, spreading out from where Peter’s skin touched his.

“Forgive me, Sonja,” he whispered, softly as to not disturb Peter.

And she would have, he felt certain. Just as if he had been the one to die he would have wanted her to go on with her life, to not face eternity all alone. And though it was, of course, far too early think of such things, he felt just a hint of relief that, however much Peter hated what was happening to him, at least he would live, would not wither and die like most humans. Lucian didn’t think he could have dealt with that. Perhaps he could, in other circumstances, have convinced him to accept his bite, but there was always the rather large chance he wouldn’t have survived it. Perhaps this was part of the reason he had been drawn to him in the first place. That hint of the undead about him, that promise that he would soon be free of the fragility of humanity.

“You’re thinking so loud it’s keeping me awake,” Peter said, voice muffled by the fabric of Lucian’s t-shirt.

He could feel the words against his skin.

“You at least thinking about something good?”

“Yes,” Lucian confirmed, “you, in fact.”

“’M flattered,” Peter said, nudging up the fabric of Lucian’s shirt to press a soft kiss to his stomach.

It made something under Lucian’s skin flutter, made his face pull into a smile without his even getting a choice in it, his hand returning to Peter’s hair. Peter turned his face to look up at him.

“Y’look happy.”

“Oh? I don’t usually?”

“Not like this,” Peter said, pausing briefly to yawn, “’s nice. Keep doing that.”

“I will try,” Lucian promised.

“Now, how are you feeling?”

Peter hummed, thinking for a moment.

“Good. Sleepy. Comfortable. Only a little bit like there’s a black hole inside me gradually consuming every part of myself that I like.”

“So better?”

“Yeah.”

Peter squirmed, stretched, an elbow poking into Lucian’s ribs. With the exception of looking, now, paler than he had when they met, he still looked so terribly human. Even with his heart beating so much more sluggishly than it used to, his blood stilling in his veins, and the way his eyes frequently turned completely black seemingly without warning. Peter was working on controlling it, of course, but he had gone to the step of purchasing some full cover contact lenses, that would whiten the whites of his eyes, give the illusion of his normal brown, for in case it ever happened during a show. Lucian thought the idea of putting little plastic things on one’s eyes seemed unpleasant and uncomfortable, but Peter seemed to feel it was something that would, at least to some degree, let him retain his old life for a time. He had wondered aloud, repeatedly, whether the fake cross tattoos on his neck would begun to hurt him, though they hadn’t yet. Lucian had attempted to pint out that the collar of his coat and long wig mostly covered them anyway, so what, really, was the point? But Peter had not been convinced.

“I’ve attempted, yet again, to contact Tanis- uh, the vampire I mentioned who helped me, but I’ve yet to hear back from him. Again, I do suspect he has died, so it might be a waste of time waiting.”

“M-hmm?”

“And I’ve also contacted one of the few remaining members of my pack who chose to stay in Budapest, to see if she can find anything out. She told me she would investigate, but I assume we’ll have to wait a while to get anything concrete.”

“Hmm,” Peter agreed.

“You’re too helpful,” he declared.

“I refuse to apologise for that,” Lucian informed him.

“And… And I hope it is not too soon to ask, but have you given any more thought to my suggestion?”

Peter blinked lazily up at him, one hand reaching up to twirl a strand of Lucian’s hair around his finger.

“To you making me part of your weird centuries long pet experiment, you mean?”

Lucian winced.

“Which might,” he reminded Peter, “allow you more freedom from the parts of vampirism you would avoid. You’re clearly- I mean. You are not becoming more human again, I think we can rule that out.”

“True,” Peter agreed, brown eyes narrowed, “and it will take me further from being human.”

Lucian sighed.

“What does that even mean, being human? This might give you the chance to see the sun again, to be able to live on something else than blood. Yes, you will have to transform at every full moon for the first while, but is that so bad? Spend one night a month as an oversized wolf? What part of your humanity remains more intact while you remain a vampire?”

“Not one yet, mate,” Peter muttered, pushing himself up to sit, no longer quite so close to Lucian.

He felt a twinge of guilt for provoking him, but surely he must see that this was the right choice? That this would allow him to spend his life more or less as he had, at least until he would have to reinvent himself to avoid suspicion when it became clear he no longer aged.

“Do you even know how it will work? Have you ever seen one? And the vampire that bit me, different kind than those you’re related to. Might not work. Might do nothing. Might kill me, right? You mentioned about the bites being deadly, right, both vampire and lycan ones, to most humans? You want to risk killing me just so you get to fulfil your life’s great side quest or whatever?”

“No, Peter, of course not, I only meant-”

“I know,” Peter said, groaning, “I know. I know you’re not trying to be a dick, it’s just… I’m scared, all right? Scared of the shit that’s already happening to me, and adding even more weird shit into my already fucked up mix of DNA here doesn’t seem like a great way to solve all my problems, y’know?”

“I suppose,” Lucian was forced to agree.

He felt frustrated, but that was not Peter’s fault. He brought up good points. It was unprecedented, and being bitten might not have the same effects as being conceived as a hybrid. It might very well, as Peter said, kill him, and Lucian didn’t think he could stand that. He had seen so much death in his long life, and, frankly, he had had enough of it.

“It’s not like the possibility goes away, I suppose. I don’t see any reason why it might not work just as well even if you fully complete your transformation. Well, other than that your body, already and currently changing, might be more adaptive right now, more likely to accept the additional infection while already in flux.”

“That how you see it, then? Yourself, your species? An infection?” Peter demanded, “cause that doesn’t sound so much like salvation right now.”

“I mean only in the biological sense, Peter, as you well know.”

“Yeah,” Peter muttered.

“Look, I’ll keep thinking about it, yeah? It’s only been like… two weeks since I found out I’m dying inside literally as well as metaphorically. It takes… Takes time, okay? And I am so grateful for you, I really am, but it’s still so much, Lucian, so fucking much to deal with.”

“Yes,” Lucian told him, “I do understand. Just… Please consider it. You’re still partially human, you can still brave the sun at least for a while, still subsist on human food, but that is changing every day.”

“Are you implying I’m not taking this seriously enough?”

“Of course not. Merely that the consequences of your situation will be getting increasingly inescapable as time goes on. And that that might affect, just in part, how you feel about this.”

“I’ll think about it.”


	12. It's a Full Moon Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter keeps refusing to deal with his issues until pressured

Peter felt like absolute shit. He was so cold, now, even in the unrelenting heat of Vegas when he left his flat he froze. It was a strange experience, standing in the middle of the pavement at night, people walking past him with sweat glinting on their skin whilst he felt like he was locked in a freezer. And he could feel the heat, sort of, as an almost abstract concept which hovered just an inch or so away from his skin. He knew, of course, that it was all part of this process, of his slow and drawn out death, but that didn’t make it any less unsettling. It was part of the reason he kept asking Lucian to stay, kept wanting to be near him. Because where every other source of heat seemed to do nothing to help. Lucian did. Perhaps it was the fact that lycans had a slightly higher average body temperature than humans. Perhaps it was all in his head. It didn’t really matter, though, as long as it helped.

Lucian helped in other ways too, just by being there. Peter slept so much now, felt like he never had any energy. Lucian insisted that if he just started to consume some blood it would get easier, and probably he was right, but Peter didn’t want to, not before it became absolutely necessary. He could still brave the sunlight for short periods of time before his skin started to redden and hurt, there was still some life and humanity left in him. But it left him permanently exhausted.

Peter loved sleeping, usually. Love being able to to turn his brain off for a bit, to just be comfortable, but it wasn’t like that any more. Whenever his eyes closed he felt dark tendrils of something, like sharp fingers clawing at his skin and his mind. The vampiric infection inside him, consuming and transforming, making him more and more monstrous. Which was another reason it was nice to have Lucian there. He lessened it by his very presence, like the infection could sense the lycan, sense something bigger and scarier than itself which weakened its power. And, well, when Lucian wasn’t there it got… bad. He’d woken up on the wall once. Clinging to the wall like some sort of grotesque gargoyle. As soon as he realised this, of course, he had, cartoonishly, fallen down, collapsed in a painful heap on the floor.

Peter sighed, buried his face in Lucian’s fur. The lycan was in his wolf form, now, citing the full moon, explaining that it was more effort to remain human than not to, and was that okay with Peter? And, well, Peter hardly had the moral high ground of humanity to rely on now, so he had shrugged, and watched as the moon rose and the wolf pressed itself out through Lucian’s skin. It was only the second time he had seen him like this, but it already felt somewhat familiar. Felt safe, somehow. It didn’t keep him from feeling like shit, feeling like the worst stage of a bad flu that lasted for weeks and weeks, but still it felt good to know the massive monster was on his side, was there to protect him. One massive clawed hand or paw rested on Peter’s back. The patches of skin felt rough and leathery, and the fur was more coarse than soft, but Peter pressed closer anyway. Felt like the vampirism could not consume him further while Lucian was there, arm around him, large head curled around him, occasionally licking at his hair. 

It was strange, how fast he had come to rely on Lucian, to trust him, to be feel perfectly safe curled up with this huge and monstrous wolf creature. He knew it was a little unfair of him, to latch onto the only person who knew what was happening to him, who had any hope of understanding it, and just not letting go. He didn’t like to think of himself as clingy and needy. He wasn’t, usually, but these were strange circumstances. And Lucian, who seemed too good a person to be entirely true, simply let him. Seemed to understand, to not mind. Perhaps he was just very, very lonely.

Lucian shifted, moved to curl further around Peter, paws pulling him even closer, as if reading Peter’s mind. 

“Hey,” he murmured, “thanks. Still. Again.”

Lucian made a sort of soft growly noise, which presumably indicated that Peter was welcome. His heart beat was a calming rhythm against Peter’s palm, nothing like his own, which only occasionally bothered to work at all these days.

-

“Please, Peter. You look like death. You need to drink something.”

Lucian was leaning against the table, a mug of warm blood between them. It was pigs blood, not human, but it still felt like giving in, giving up, admitting that this was what he was now.

“So?” he demanded, voice even more sullen than he had intended.

Lucian’s brows knit together in worry and frustration. He pushed the mug towards Peter, and god, the smell was beginning to be appetizing now, that was the worst part. It hadn’t changed, but his reaction to it had. It smelled like life, like exactly what he needed. Well, like almost what he needed, at any rate.

“So you clearly feel terrible, Peter. You haven’t eaten any human food for nearly two days, either. All you do is sleep and be miserable.”

“Not been hungry,” he retorted.

And he hadn’t, really. He’d just been thirsty, and he knew so very well what he craved, but he felt a sort of satisfaction in denying himself. In refusing to cave to the demands of the horrible thing growing inside him, infection his blood, crawling out through his nerves. 

“Please,” Lucian said, taking one of Peter’s hands in both of his, “if you starve yourself it will only get worse. You can’t keep it up forever, and when you finally break it will only be worse.”

“But I can keep it up a while longer,” Peter insisted, not meeting those pleading eyes, ignoring the insistent warm press of fingers.

“This isn’t even human blood,” Lucian continued, “it’s no different, really, than eating meat. Just consuming the parts of the animal that is usually discarded. If you think about it, this is far more sustainable, really, better for the environment than human food.”

Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, perhaps a reach, I admit, but please try some. It’s… hard to watch you like this.”

“You don’t have to. You can just leave me to it. No problem.”

Was he lashing out? Yes. Did he immediately regret it? Also yes. Did he want Lucian to leave? Extremely no. Did he say it, or even apologise a little bit? Definitely not. He looked up at Lucian, meeting his eyes. 

“I’m not going to do that, Peter. You know that. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to, but if you keep starving yourself you’re going to get desperate, and there’s a much greater chance that you will lose control, attack the first human you see.”

“Fuck you,” Peter said, but his voice was too soft for it to have any bite.

Lucian nudged the mug closer, and this time Peter took it. He held it up in front of him, looked down at the red liquid inside, which was soon to become the only thing he craved. It just made it too real, too much of an inevitable truth. He grimaced, then lifted it to his lips. First a small sip, but god, that taste. He gulped down the rest of it, and fuck, it made him want more. He hated it. Looking up at Lucian he was at least relieved to see no emotion on his face, no satisfaction or smugness, just a hint of melancholy.

“I hate it.”

“Yes.”

“It tastes… It tastes good, and right, and fuck, I hate that so much.”

“I understand.”

“...Is there more?”

-

Peter seemed, at last, to be feeling a little bit better. The two cups of blood he had managed to drink had helped, as Lucian had known it would. Peter was quite angry about that, but for the first time in days he actually looked properly awake, the dark circles under his eyes having retreated, some colour having returned to his pallid skin. Some life having been breathed back into him.

Peter pushed closer, his lips on Lucian’s throat, his hands busy undoing the buttons on his shirt. Lucian had already pulled Peter’s shirt of, and his hands were roaming the cool expanse of his back, feeling the minute shifts of muscle under the skin as Peter moved. It reminded him of his time with Sonja, because how could it not? The feel of cool skin against his warmth, the beautiful contrast of it. He remembered thinking how elevated it was, how different from his peers. It was a dark time for him, for how he felt about himself and his fellow lycans, but the feel of Sonja in his arms, her body pressed against his, it was-

“Hey, Lucian, you good?”

Peter was frowning down at him, his hands on Lucian’s shoulders.

“Yes,” he assured him, leaning in to press a kiss to Peter’s cheek, “yes, my mind just went somewhere else. Please do get back to what you were doing.”

Peter looked at him questioningly, so Lucian pulled him into a kiss, resolving to keep his focus on the matter at hand. It felt strange, now, different to what their kisses had been like only the week before. All of Peter was so much colder, now, but Lucian didn’t mind. He could be the warmth for them both. What else was his thick fur for? 

Peter managed to remove Lucian’s shirt, and had started working open his belt, his face all the while glued to Lucian’s, who had deepened the kiss, running his tongue over the just slightly sharp points of Peter’s teeth. His hand had found its way down Peter’s torso, stopping briefly to scrape nails over nipples, to feel the way Peter pressed against him. He traced a finger down the trail of hair leading downwards, disappearing into Peter’s too tight jeans. Let his hand find the bulging hardness within, pressing into it and feeling as much as hearing Peter moaning into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Peter breathed, pulling back to concentrate fully on getting out of his jeans.

Lucian followed suit, tossing the clothes to the floor, and admiring Peter with some amusement as he struggled out of those so very tight jeans. Licked his lips and felt the way his fangs were just on the edge of growing out, the need to close his eyes for a moment to let them change. He resisted it, though, felt Peter probably didn’t need the reminder that neither of them were human. His hand was on his cock, stroking lazily as he watched Peter, flicking a thumb over the head and not quite managing to stifle a moan. 

Peter looked up at him, pupils blown so wide as to leave only the thinnest rim of brown around them, and as Lucian watched, the pupils seemed to expand even further, his eye blacking out completely. Which Lucian chose to take as a compliment. Peter, finally free of the constraint of clothing, got to his knees, settling in front of Lucian, and pressing a kiss to his lower stomach. Lucian’s hands found their way, nearly it felt, without his involvement, into Peter’s hair. He felt soft kisses just a little off from where he needed it, cool, wet lips against his inner thighs, fingers digging into his thighs and ass.

“Please,” he whispered, and Peter took mercy on him, licking across the head, tonguing the slit, and then, beautifully perfectly cold lips enveloping his cock.

He kept his hips still, letting Peter ease more of him into his mouth without any further pressure, though he could undoubtedly feel Lucian’s fingers curl into claws in his hair. Peter got most of him into his mouth, that cool, wet pressure a balm against Lucian’s overheated skin. He swallowed around him once, then started to move, his tongue tracing abstract patterns into Lucian’s shaft, along the protruding vein.

Peter pulled back, a thin trail of saliva connecting him to Lucian’s cock still.

“Bedroom?” he suggested.

Which was probably a better choice than Peter’s kitchen. Lucian tugged him up, pulling him into a kiss, tasting traces of himself on Peter’s tongue, sensing the way their scents mingled in a way that drove the wolf part of his mind wild. Well, wild _er_. He pressed close to Peter, crowding him against the wall, their cocks rubbing together, against each other, hard and slick and filled with need.

“Fine,” he murmured into Peter’s mouth, and let him pull him by the hand towards the bedroom.

Peter pressed kisses down Lucian’s throat, leaning into him, pressing, gently pushing into Lucian let himself fall backwards onto the bed. He got to look up at Peter, at those glossy black eyes for a moment before he pounced on him, hands roaming, settling around Lucian’s still spit slick cock. Lucian fumbled blindly, fingers at last closing around the small bottle that had lain half covered by a pillow for several days now. 

Pressing a kiss to Peter’s shoulder he flipped them, so he was hovering over Peter, settling between his spread legs, getting to watch how blissful Peter looked, eyes half closed, spread out before him. His hard cock leaking precum onto his stomach. Lucian let the bottle drip onto his fingers, coating them in the slick substance before nudging Peter’s legs just a little farther apart. He rubbed a finger over the puckered hole, felt Peter press himself against him. 

“Please,” Peter said, “please hurry up, want you inside me.”

And who was Lucian to deny him anything? He pressed a finger into him, two knuckles deep, thrusting in and out, letting Peter get used to the pressure before adding a second. His other hand was on Peter’s shaft, stroking just enough to make him want more, to be extra needy. He scissored his fingers inside him, trying to time it with feather-like strokes of his cock. Pushed a third digit into him, hearing Peter keen, begging him incoherently to please, more, please.

He bent down to press his lips briefly to the head of Peter’s cock, then poured some more lube onto his fingers, slicking himself up before slowly guiding himself into Peter. 

Peter felt tight, felt slick and inhumanly cold and absolutely perfect. Lucian sunk in slow, slower than he needed to, slow enough to drive Peter to madness.

“Lucian,” he whined, “for fuck’s sake just fucking fuck me!”

But there was nothing but impatience in his voice, and his fingers were clenching the sheets, his eyes closed tightly and his head thrown back. Lucian pressed in, pulling slowly out again, and starting a slow, delicious rhythm that Peter deemed not enough by far, one leg finding its way around Lucian, trying to press him closer, deeper.

“Patience, Peter, if you’re go-”

But that was as far as he got before Peter eased himself off him, having had enough, clearly, shifting, urging Lucian down onto his back and settling over him, sinking down onto him, his hands on Lucian’s chest, nails that felt just a little bit too sharp digging into his skin as he started to ride him, face screwed up in concentration, only slivers of black visible. Lucian didn’t mind at all, his hands finding their way onto Peter’s hips, encouraging him to speed up.

Peter bent down, continuing to move, to press a kiss to his lips, and Lucian felt what were clearly the beginnings of fangs, and if anything it made him thrust up into Peter with more force, if still very little momentum. He fumbled between them, his still slick fingers locking around Peter’s cock, pressing against the hard flesh.

Peter sped up even further, fucking himself on Lucian’s cock with vigour, and Lucian didn’t last long, the pressure of it too much, and with a groan he stilled, spilling into Peter. He let his eyes slip closed, but kept stroking Peter’s cock, feeling him thrust into it until he too reached his climax only moments later, cumming all over Lucian’s hand and stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

He eased himself off of Lucian’s cock, and let himself fall down onto the bed, crawling closer and resting his head on Lucian’s chest. He was still breathing hard, but Peter wasn’t at all, as if having forgotten that he needed to. But when he looked up at Lucian his eyes had gone back to normal. Lucian pressed a kiss to his forehead, and murmured something to him in Romanian that he was far from ready to say in English.


	13. Journey's Start

Planning the trip was proving to be a challenge. There were not, perhaps predictably, any direct flights from Vegas to either Bucharest or Budapest, and so the trip had to be done in chunks, and larger such ones than might be the case for ordinary humans. They were moving into autumn now, the days growing slightly shorter, which was good, but they still needed to plan for the plane trips to take place during the night. This involved a lot of hotel rooms and requests for black out curtains, but that was fine. Peter had, after all, the money, and had threatened his people with something or other, and he had been graciously permitted to take two weeks off, though he would have to do a few extra shows to make up for it when they returned to the states. 

Lucian was headed out to get some of the supplies they needed for the trip. Most vampires, fortunately, could go a good while without blood, but being packed tightly into a small cylinder hurtling relentlessly through the air with what was effectively 150 blood-bags was a risk, and so they had to try to bring enough.

Peter wasn’t completely dependent on blood yet, could still derive some sustenance from regular human food, although he had started to complain that none of it tasted anything. He wasn’t close to suddenly bursting into flames if he crossed an errant sunbeam either, but they had to be careful. They were planning to leave two days later, and the progression of the vampirism was unpredictable, and the trip itself would take a few days. It was best to be prepared.

Lucian’s first stop was buying a cooler and some thermoses. Which went fine, he found what he was looking for, and texted Peter to ask how renting a car with UV proof glass windows was going.

 **Peter:** fuckin frustrating is how. This is vamp discrimination.v but think I found a promising one is just wicked expensive

 **Lucian:** Good thing you’re rich, then

 **Peter:** >:P

 **Lucian:** I still do not understand what your strange constellations of letters and signs mean.

 **Peter:** >:P >:P

Lucian couldn’t help but smile at the screen as he waited in the queue in the butcher shop. Peter really was rather endearing in a very strange way. Maybe it was because he was (still, partly,) human, or maybe because he was centuries younger than Lucian. Whatever it was it made him smile at the strange little letter drawings on the screen.

A notification popped up at the top of his screen, showing that he had gotten an email from one of his contacts in Romania.

**From: homolupuslupus1481@gmail.com  
To: blaidd_da@gmail.com**

Hello Lucian. I am glad to hear you are returning to the old country. It has not been the same these last years. That said, I’ve made the arrangements you asked for, though I am worried at your bringing a vampire here. The car, sun proof windows and all will be waiting for you at the airport in Bucharest, and the supplies will be in the back seat. As you suspected, Castle Corvinus does indeed stand empty now, and is likely still a safe place. I have reached out to what contacts I have left regarding the synthetic blood, but haven’t heard back from any of them. As you are aware, everyone and everything is still scattered after the events a decade ago, and so I am unsure whether production has started back up, and who would even be doing it. Of course, many vampires remain living, to the point they are capable of, at any rate, but not in the larger configurations of previous centuries. I will meet you at the castle, if that is acceptable.

Yours,  
A loyal pack member

Which was excellent news. He fired off a quick reply, and then it was his turn. He requested pigs blood, as much as the man behind the counter was willing to sell him.

“What’s that for, then?” the man asked with a raised eyebrow.

Lucian blinked, hadn’t, for whatever reason, considered he might be asked this.

“Uh, for my dog,” he chanced.

Did dogs eat blood? He certainly did if given the chance, but then lycans didn’t have much in common with the Yorkshire terrier going crazy at all the meat scents and struggling against the leash of the woman behind him in the queue. But the man’s face broke into a smile.

“Oh, good. Solid source of protein. You wouldn’t believe how many teens come in trying to buy it to use in fake rituals and stuff. What sort of dog is it?”

“Err,” Lucian said, equally baffled by this response, “we’re not entirely sure. Big, black, might have a decent chunk of wolf in him.”

“A rescue,” he added, at the man’s curious face, “we got him from a shelter, had had a pretty abusive owner. We don’t know much about his genetics other than what we can guess.”

Lucian realised that he had just made himself into a fictional dog, which made him feel a little uncomfortable, but the man seemed satisfied with this explanation, disappearing into the back and returning with a few litre tubs of blood. Lucian paid the man, and made sure to pretend to struggle with the weight of them more than he really did on his way out. The small terrier growled at him, and hid behind their owner’s legs, and he resisted the urge to growl back.

-

They made the drive up to Los Angeles two days later. Peter was miserable, sitting in the passenger seat with a dark hood drawn down over his face, despite the heat and the darkened windows. He had a travel mug filled with what seemed an unpleasant mixture of pigs blood and crushed ice. He missed the crunch, he had claimed, of human foods. Missed texture. Probably he missed the taste, too. But at least he had seemed to accept that this was what he had to do to not feel terrible, and Lucian’s reminder that the plane trip would likely be very uncomfortable and might lead to him losing control of himself had worked. So he was drinking the icy blood through a straw, making deliberately obnoxious slurping noises over the music he had insisted on.

“Not a road trip without music,” he had claimed.

But then, he had also claimed that this music was good, and Lucian did not agree. The low quality screech of the speakers grated on Lucian’s sensitive hearing, but he hadn’t complained yet. They were only an hour into the drive, and he didn’t have the energy for three or four hours of arguing.

“You want a taste?” Peter offered, holding the cup up to him, and Lucian shrugged, sucking some of the cold blood up through the straw without taking his eyes off the road.

“Don’t understand how you drink it cold,” he said.

“’S like forty degrees out here. We’re in a desert.”

“We are, but we also have air condition.”

Peter made a dissatisfied noise, and they drove on in silence for a little while. Lucian glanced over at Peter occasionally, still a little amused at the ridiculous way he was dressed. Well, not really ridiculous for him, he supposed, though it looked a little like a more grungy and covered up version of his stage costume. All black and covering everything, long sleeves turning into half gloves. Deep pockets for if he had to leave the car, a collar that zipped up to cover almost his entire face, a hood vast enough that it could cover his entire face. He had on a pair of large sunglasses, too. Entirely protected from what he had insisted on calling a death star, for some reason.

“I’m glad we’re going,” Lucian said after a while.

“Well, you know. Could do with a holiday. Haven’t left Vegas for a year, and the states not for four years. And. Never been to Romania. Or Poland.”

“I’m not sure spending a day at the Warszawa airport hotel counts as going to Poland, Peter.”

“Course it does. Not thoroughly, but still. Anyway. Some time off from my show will be good. Plus, going to vampire country, right? That’s how I pitched it to my people. Going off to do some hands on research on vampires. Which reminds me, we do have to go look at the Dracula castles. Mostly so I can post selfies from them and post to my insta, but I’m sure they can be fun. I may have to do some mini vlogs, too. Keep the excitement up for my fans.”

“I don’t understand what any of this means,” Lucian told him with a fond smile, “but as I recall those are in the Carpathians, near Braşov, which is where we’re going anyway.”

“You are so infinitely old,” Peter told him, but not with any hint of malice.

-

“Lucian Corvinus?” Peter asked, squinting at the terrible little photo of Lucian in his passport.

He shrugged.

“Seemed a good a last name as any. Not like I have an actual proper one, anyway.”

“Suppose not. Not big on giving them away, your, err, superiors?”

“Not very, no. Though to be honest, back then last names were less important. Also I wasn’t legally a person. In several senses.”

Peter leaned in to kiss his cheek, only earning a single glare from another person waiting around their gate, which, for America, was pretty good.

Outside the window the sky was safely dark, and if the glowing screen above them was anything to go by, they would soon be heading closer to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna continue as soon as I can, wanted to make this and the next one a single chapter, but I've spent hours dealing with tech issues


	14. A Brief Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our two heroes cement their acceptance of each other and also fuck

The plane ride was excruciatingly long and unpleasant, as transatlantic flights usually are. Peter tried to occupy himself with watching a film on his ipad, but he kept getting distracted, flinching every time someone went to open the window shades, despite the fact it was night. He confided in Lucian after a while that he had always been an anxious flier.

“It’s unnatural,” he said confidently, as he gazed out at dark clouds and the faint hint of stars above, “falling through the air in a metal tube. Entirely rational fear, if you ask me.”

“Would you have preferred a six week boat ride?” Lucian asked, holding Peter’s hand in both of his, rubbing his thumbs over knuckles and straining tendons.

“No,” Peter admitted, leaning his head on Lucian’s shoulder. 

-

The walk from the plane to the terminal was short, and cold. Poland was, it turned out, was significantly further into autumn than Las Vegas, and Peter shivered, leaning into Lucian, tugging his arm around him as he swore loudly. His immunity to heat, evidently, did not extend to immunity from the cold. He really was very fortunate to have a nice warm boyfriend in whom he could seek refuge.

They checked into the hotel just before dawn, as they could see the threatening halo of sun just beyond the horizon. They did have to pay for two nights, as hotels were uniquely prejudiced against the nocturnal. Still, it was fine, it was comparatively cheap, as Lucian had been the one to do the booking, and he clearly had lower standards than Peter.

Lucian went into their room first, to ensure the curtains were dense and closed enough. Then called Peter in when it was definitely safe. It was stressful, always worrying whether today was the day when the sun would become deadly to him.

"I'm tired," he confessed, and dropped his bag on the floor before slumping down onto the bed.

Lucian didn't reply, but simply sat down behind him, rubbing his back, placing a soft kiss to the back of his neck. Peter closed his eyes, leaning back into Lucian. He debated the concept of a shower with himself, but realised that that would involve getting to his feet again, and despite having just sat down for eight hours he didn't think he could do it. Slowly, without entirely meaning to, he slid sideways until his head was on the slightly too crisp pillow. He reached up, blindly, grabbing Lucian's arm, pulling him down until he lay half on top of him.

"Everything all right?" Lucian asked, shifting so he lay more comfortably, curled warmly around Peter.

"Mm," Peter said, "Yeah. Just tired. You?"

"I'm fine," Lucian replied, his voice soft, the beard scratchy against Peter's skin.

"A little glad to be back, to be honest, even if not quite home yet. I've been in America too long."

"Yeah?" Peter asked, his voice hopefully concealing the spike of anxiety this inspired in him, "you think you're gonna stay?"

"No," he said, a hand stroking soothingly over Peter's arm, "not yet. I still have business in the states."

"Yeah? Like what? You never actually told me, I think, why you were there?"

"Well, as to the first point, there is this man I've been spending a lot of time with, whom I would like to continue seeing, if he is into that."

"Is he, perhaps, someone who is slowly dying? And in show business, by any chance? A fellow vampire hunter, maybe?"

"He is," Lucian agreed, and pushed Peter's hoodie down far enough that he could press a kiss to the spot where his neck met his shoulder, "and he is very hot, but a little bit too aware of it. And very bad at grammar, if his texts are anything to go by. And absurdly rich, and almost too fond of his decadent lifestyle."

"He sounds like a good guy," Peter murmured, "you should go for it. Ask him to be your boyfriend or something."

While calmed by Lucian's assurance that he wanted to stick around, he still felt ridiculously nervous about his last suggestion. Given how much time they spent in each other's company, how much they kissed, how often they had sex, and not least how often Lucian stayed the night at Peter's place, it had been an unspoken thing, but Peter still felt uneasy about labelling it. They had only known each other for a few months, yet in that time they had grown so close, and Peter relied so heavily upon Lucian, that it felt like longer. Felt like someone he had known for ages.

"I must admit, I rather thought he was," Lucian replied, cutting through Peter's mental monologue, "but if you think he disagrees I will take your advice and ask outright."

Relief flooded Peter, and he squirmed, turning around and kissing Lucian, and laid a hand on his cheek, brushing soft skin, sinking into long, thick hair to pull him ever closer.

"Good," he murmured in a brief pause between kisses.

He felt Lucian's arm around him, the other tugging lightly at the zipper of his hoodie.

"Unless you're too tired?"

Peter shook his head.

"Not for that, not for you," Peter assured him.

He got up for a moment, to pull off his clothes, tossing them into a heap on top of his small bag. Having Lucian undress him slowly was lovely, always, but efficiency was a virtue, and he looked so very lovely reclining there on the bed. He knew, also, that as soon as the sun was risen properly he would feel even more tired, lethargic, and unlikely to have the energy for sex, which he did very much currently want.

He rejoined Lucian on the bed, where he had remained, simply looking at him instead of taking off his clothes like a responsible boyfriend. Could he do that now? Mentally refer to him as his boyfriend? He hoped so. 

“Hey,” he said, “wanna get naked? Or do I have to do all the hard work in this relationship?”

He couldn’t help smiling, saying it like that, referring to whatever was between them as a relationship, and Lucian seemed to pick up on it, on how relieved he was. Peter had the vague feeling that the lycan had mentioned that his hearing was good enough to pick up on other people’s heartbeats if it was reasonably quiet. Perhaps that was how he so well predicted how Peter would feel about stuff. Like a kind of mind reading. Heart reading. Weird.

With the exception of his dark vision getting better, he hadn’t noticed much change in his own senses. The only exception had been that one time, in his kitchen, when he’d drunk the human blood, and gone all gross and monstrous. Then, in those short moments that had felt an eternity, he had felt like every sensory input was so much, too much. Initially he had attributed it to the panic attack he had, which often featured variants of sensory overload, but on looking back over time, he had realised that leaning into Lucian he had been able to smell the other man’s blood. So perhaps it was a feature only when his face distorted, or when he consumed human blood. It wasn’t something he missed.

“You all there?” Lucian asked, and Peter blinked.

Lucian had, while Peter zoned out, focusing on his possible powers, taken off all his clothes, and was holding Peter’s hands in his own. His skin was so warm. It always had been, of course, as werewolves apparently ran a degree or two hotter than humans, but now that his own body barely got higher than room temperature it was so much more noticeable. Intoxicating, really, as if when deprived of the sun Lucian was the next best thing.

“Yeah,” he told him, “lot on my mind is all. About you and me and everything. About what to do.”

“I can understand that,” Lucian told him, bending to press a kiss to his knuckles.

“But now that you’re all naked, y’know, I think I can keep my mind in the present.”

“Oh, is that how I keep your attention?” Lucian asked, a smile tugging at his lips, “I’ll keep that in mind for later.”

Peter shut him up the most efficient way he knew how; by kissing him, hands locked around his shoulders, sinking back into the sheets and pulling Lucian down on top of him. The weight of him on top of him, the heat, the leg pressing in between his all felt so right. Lucian’s hard cock brushing against his own, against his stomach, Lucian’s lips withdrawing from his and pressing soft, quick kisses along his jaw, down his throat. A wet, hot tongue against his nipple, swirling, the scrape of sharpened teeth. When Lucian looked up next it was with pale, blue eyes without pupils.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Course, yeah. Not really in a position to be making demands about keeping up human appearances, am I?”

“Peter, if it makes you uncomfortable I will stop, I promise, I will make my face more human. You’re perfectly entitled to think it strange regardless of your own current… ambivalent status, species-wise.”

“No,” Peter insisted, “please keep them. It was… I’ve got to admit, in the beginning it was really unsettling. But I’m getting used to it. And, y’know. Combined with what you’re doing, right now? Positive reinforcement by association with a good thing, and all that. Besides, what if my eyes started going black when I got horny, right? Be unfair of me to deny you.”

“To be fair they already do, after a little while,” Lucian said, as if this was a neutral piece of information and not a very new and disturbing fact.

“What?” Peter demanded, “Like every time? I thought it was just when I came, just the once!”

Lucian made a sort of shrugging motion, as much as was possible in his current situation. Peter was vaguely aware of his cock pressing into his ribs.

“Most of the time, yes. I thought I’d try not to remind you of it. Besides, I quite like them.”

He punctuated his sentence with a kiss to the centre of Peter’s chest. 

“And you- you don’t mind?”

“No,” Lucian said simply, “I was always aware of what you were becoming, remember? And I am not so familiar with your species as I am others. The vampires I grew up with simply somewhat shifted the hue of their irises, letting them become white or icy blue. So your black eyes are simply yours, to me. And they remind me of the eyes of transformed lycans, which is not a bad thing.”

“Oh. Uh, then, uh, then good. Thank you? Also, I’ve, uh, been meaning to ask…”

“Yes?” 

Lucian had folded his arms atop Peter’s chest, resting his head on them, looking up at him with strange and beautiful empty eyes. Had Peter remembered that he was supposed to be breathing he would have struggled to, just a little bit.

“You don’t mind how I… How I feel?”

Lucian frowned.

“How you feel about what?”

“No, like… Like what I feel like, how… Lifeless. All cold and weird and heart not beating enough and things.”

“Not at all. It’s still you. And remember, you are not the first vampire I have fallen for. Not that this is the time to bring up lost lovers, but, ah, if anything, it just reminds me of how it felt being with her, a little bit. Which is. I mean that in the best possible way, please understand that.”

“No, yeah, I think I get it. Okay. Okay good. So, uh, keep the eyes, and we’ll both have weird eyes, I guess. Are they like that now?”

He looked to either side, attempting futilely to see his own eyeballs with extremely little success. But Lucian nodded.

“For a few minutes,” he said.

“Oh. Gotta… Got to learn how to control that. Or just wear dark sunglasses the rest of my life. Unlife. Whichever.”

“Not a bad idea,” Lucian agreed, “but so far it’s only ever happened around, well. Blood and sex. Very, ah, carnally activated eye changes. So I think you should be good for the time being.”

“Oh,” Peter said, “yeah, good.”

One of Lucian’s hands had drifted, a nail scraping across one of Peter’s nipples, causing his cock to twitch, sending a curl of arousal through him, spiralling downwards. He couldn’t help but shift his hips, moving up against Lucian as much as he was capable, half pinned as he was. Lucian smiled, pressed a final kiss to his chest before trailing more of them down the centre of him, down towards where Peter had several very good idea for how Lucian could put his mouth to good use.

“Hang on,” he said, shrugging free enough that he could hang half his torso over the edge of the bed, grasping for the small ziplock bag in his hand luggage, his small allowance of liquids, of which lube had been deemed an essential one.

Freeing the small tube from it’s environmentally unfriendly prison he tossed it in Lucian’s direction before manoeuvring himself back up onto the bed proper. Then, almost as soon as he got back to his original position he felt warm lips against the head of his cock, then a tongue, moving in just the right way to only deepen his desire rather than give any relief whatsoever. Lucian then pressed soft kisses against his shaft as a slick finger prodded at his hole, nudging it open and thrusting slowly in.

“Lucian,” Peter whined.

“Yes, dear?” Lucian asked, ceasing to provide any stimulation, his voice all too innocent not to know exactly what he was doing to Peter.

A dangerous fanged grin confirmed this. Peter dug his fingers into Lucian’s hair, blunt nails scraping against his scalp, and Lucian’s eyes fell closed. It occurred, then, to Peter that having Lucian’s mouth on him while it was full of fangs might not actually be a pleasant experience, and wondered briefly whether that, perhaps, was the reason he had asked whether it was okay for him to stay that way. Well. He would, it looked like, be getting very pleasantly fucked either way, there was always time for blowjobs later.

Lucian added, very slowly, a second finger, which slid smoothly into him, stretching him just right. That strange feeling of very mild discomfort and intense arousal that this always brought. He moaned when Lucian began to move them, at the same time pressing wet kisses to him, tongueing over the slit with precision.

“More, Lucian, please?”

Lucian, whom Peter was enthusiastically deciding was the best boyfriend he had ever had, obliged, adding a third finger. Still going slow, still giving Peter plenty of time to adjust, and continuing to combine it with using safe, fang free kisses to Peter’s cock. He trust back against him, needing more, needing to feel fuller, needing that beautiful wet heat properly inside of him. His hand drifted to his cock, slowly stroking himself, his efforts joining Lucian’s mouth, earning him several kisses to his fingers which, while lovely, were not his priority at this point.

“Lucian?”

“Yes?”

“Please fuck me.”

And Lucian obliged, withdrawing his fingers and leaving Peter feeling empty, clenching down on air. He pressed a last kiss to the head of Peter’s cock, then lined his own up, pushing slowly into Peter. The heat and pressure was so much, and just right, and not nearly enough, all at the same time. Lucian’s hand joined Peter’s, their fingers intertwining as they stroked along cool, hard flesh. Soon, Lucian begun to thrust into him, one arm planted in the centre of Peter’s chest, pale and otherworldly eyes staring down at him, panted breath revealing the tips of fangs. And Peter found, for the first time in their relationship, that he actively liked it. Like somehow the emotional part of his brain had caught up with the intellectual one, allowing him to properly appreciate it as an expression of passion and arousal, rather than just another sign that the man fucking him wasn’t human.

Peter’s hands were on Lucian, one of his legs hooking behind his back to pull him closer, hands tugging at any part of him he could reach, just wanting him closer, deeper. He could feel heat and tension building inside him, like a spiral winding itself tighter and tighter, the more potent to make the eventual release. He pulled Lucian down into a clumsy kiss, rhythm complicating the action until they simply pressed their foreheads together, each looking into the other’s inhuman eyes. 

Lucian thrusts began to falter, get more erratic, and his hand on Peter’s cock sped up, as if determined to make him come first. And, with another messy kiss that had too much motion and fangs, Peter did. He spilled between them with a loud and incoherent moan, clenching hard around Lucian. He wanted, briefly, to tell Lucian that he loved him. He didn’t, though, instead thrusting lazily against Lucian as he too reached his climax with a sound that wasn't entirely human in nature.

Lucian pulled out, and collapsed down onto the bed next to Peter, resting his head on his chest and throwing an arm across Peter’s stomach. Peter could still feel his warmth inside him, strange and comforting at the same time.

“That was good,” Peter said unnecessarily, petting his hand through Lucian’s hair, twirling strands of it around his fingers.

“It was,” Lucian agreed.

“We should get cleaned up,” Peter added, but made no move to get up.

Lucian groaned, closing his eyes for a few seconds before rolling off the bed and heading into the bathroom.

“Hey,” Peter said, a few minutes later when they were all cleaned up and tucked in under the covers, “is it weird if I ask if you could, you know, change?”

“Into more clothes?”

“No, never that. Well, I mean, not never, but, I’m unlikely to ever ask you to, to be honest. No, whether you would mind sleeping all wolf like tonight?”

“I can, if you want me to,” Lucian told him, “but why?”

Peter shrugged in the tight confines of the very aggressively tucked in covers.

“Makes me feel safe,” he said, very deliberately not looking at Lucian.

Which meant he was mildly surprised to be immediately enveloped in a tight hug.

“What?” he asked, though he was not complaining about the hug.

“It means a lot, hearing that from you. That you’re not… It’s not a thing that makes you uncomfortable any more, that it’s… I don’t know. That me having two shapes can be a good thing sometimes.”

“It is,” Peter insisted, “getting to really like big wolf you. You’re very nice and cuddly like that.”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Lucian remarked, “that anyone has ever described a fully transformed lycan as nice and cuddly before.”

“So you will?” Peter asked.

“I do feel a bit bad for the person who has to get the fur out of the sheets.”

“Oh,” Peter said, “don’t worry. Got out a bunch of euros from the exchange place at the airport earlier. I'll tip thoroughly.”

“Err,” Lucian said, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but neither Poland nor Romania use euros.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Peter muttered, and, in an opinion that a mere three years later would become somewhat hypocritical, added “either join the EU or don’t.”

Lucian just laughed at him.

“Either way, this is an airport, I’m sure they’ll be able to exchange it, all right? I can afford to throw around money to slightly inconvenience people. And I demand big safety wolf.”

“All right, then, if you say so,” Lucian said, his smile indulgent, and changed.

Peter was getting somewhat more used to the process now, but it was still unsettling to watch. He kept Lucian’s hand in his under the covers, feeling the way it stretched and bent, the way the skin became rough, nails grew out into long claws, and fur sprouted along the back of it. And two minutes later, as he had requested, a very large wolf creature was curled around him. He was large enough, like this, to almost entirely block Peter’s view of the window, of that dreaded sun that lurked just behind the three layers of curtains. But it was good, it was all right. The sun, after all, could not get him with a large and scary lycan here to protect him.


	15. Through the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter struggles, again, still, with his condition, and Lucian is excited to show him Romania.

By the time they got off the plane at the airport in Bucharest Peter was ravenous. They had not chanced on trying to bring blood on the plane, and so the last time he had fed was somewhere around 40 hours ago. He had tried eating some human food, but it had made him nauseous, and he hadn't been able to stomach more than a few bites of the plane meal, opting to give most of it to Lucian instead. It hadn't helped, either, hadn't made his stomach feel any less like a gaping black hole. 

He felt weak, now, his skin so pale and barely warmer than the night air. So even though it was close to mignight he wore his big sunglasses, hood thrown over his head, collar high, so almost no part of him was visible. Had he been doing anything more suspicious than sitting and looking exhausted while watching their bags, he was sure security would have questioned him. He was trying very hard to look at his mobile instead of the humans around him, focusing hard on wasting expensive data on checking twitter instead of the blood he could almost feel in the nearby humans.

Finally he felt the tap of Lucian's fingers on his shoulder, and they made their way out to the car they had been promised. It had dark windows, and looked about as boring as Peter could imagine a car being. Probably it was to do with going unnoticed, though he still rolled his eyes behind his dark glasses. He got into the passenger seat while Lucian unlocked the padlocked mini freezer box in the back, freeing a pair of translucent plastic bags filled with some dark liquid. Peter could feel his teeth sharpen and elongate, his vision bright and clear in the dark of the underground carpark. 

Lucian's eyes widened just a little bit when he got into the driver's seat. Peter's face must have changed more than he could feel. He felt the edges of his mouth with trembling fingers, finding they extended twice as far as usual. He wanted to care, but all he could think about were the bags of blood, the way they held everything he could desire.

"Here, then," Lucian told him, handing over the bags.

And Peter grabbed them, foregoing the opening mechanism and tearing into the first one with his fangs, swallowing down the sweet, cool liquid as fast as he could. He drained it of every drop, though some spilled out, running down his face and throat. The second one went just as fast, and he could hear his heart starting to beat again, feel warmth seep back into his body. When it too fell empty into his lap he licked what had spilled from his fingers, the nails of which were significantly more claw like than before.

He tilted his head at Lucian, eyebrows raised, as this mouth was not optimal for human speech as much as unnatural screeches. He had wondered whether, bat-like, he could use echolocation. It would have been cool, but there was no sign of it so far.

"Not yet, I think" Lucian said, with a sad little smile, "not good to overindulge."

Peter tried for a sad noise, but it came out as more of a hoarse hiss. He frowned, attempting to pull his features back into a more human configuration, but without much success.

"It's all right, Peter. They stocked the freezer with human blood. I didn't think to specify, I'm sorry. You do seem to have a more intense reaction to it."

Peter made that hissing sound again, trying once more to will his human face back. Lucian reached over, putting a hand on his cheek, just beyond the monstrously wide corner of his mouth.

"It's going to be fine, Peter, okay? I do hope you're not panicking. But travelling like this will always be challenging."

Peter hissed again, and then made a sort of growled noise in frustration at not being able to form words. He got out his mobile and started typing furiously into the notes app, a challenge with claws, and then holding it up to show Lucian.

_I hate it how do I make my face normal??_

"Well, I think it's mostly about calming down. Which I realise is difficult, but I will try to help."

He inched as close to the edge of his seat as he could, leaning close enough to kiss Peter's cheek, and taking his hands in his own. 

"You are going to be fine, Peter," he repeated, his eyes and voice both soft, "your face will go back to normal soon. It's just like what happens to me sometimes, they way my eyes go strange amd my teeth sharp, yes? Will you take a deep breath for me? Good. And one more. I know you don't need to, but it helps, anyway. But it's good for you, feeding. Here, I can already feel you warming up, you feel almost like a human again. And I can hear your heart beating, now. This, the thing your face is doing, it will wear of soon, but the effects of the blood will last a while."

Peter leaned forward, resting his head against Lucian's shoulder, focusing on the rhythmic thumping of his heart, the way his chest rose and fell calmly, as Lucian continued whispering soothing things into his ear. Eventually, after what might have been ten minutes, he could feel his fangs receeding, leaving in their place blunt human teeth. His tongue was back to its normal shape and length too, and he hoped his eyes had gone brown and white again. He touched his face, and was relieved to feel his features were back to normal.

"There, see?" Lucian said, taking Peter's face in his hands, leaning in to place a kiss on his lips, his own coming away with just a few droplets of blood, "all human again."

"Uæh. Blergh. Okay. Okay words good. I think- I think the worst part, even more than looking so fucked up and gross, is not being able to talk."

"Hey, don't do that, Peter, please," Lucian said, taking his hands again, squeezing them.

"What, talk?"

"Peter. You know that's not what I meant. I mean, please don't talk about yourself like that. Your face may not be human all the time, but it's still yours and it's still beautiful."

Peter frowned at him.

"No? Look, I saw the way Jerry and his acolytes looked when they got all feral, they looked revolting. Bound to be what my face does too."

"It's not," Lucian protested, "it's different, yes, but not bad. Please believe me, Peter, it's still your face, and that is, per definition, a good thing."

Peter was unconvinced.

"It's monstrous," he maintained, "the- my mouth goes all... All _wrong_. It looked so fucking disturbing. Not like you, you go like. Sexy inhuman. Just enough fang and weird eyes to appeal to the part of me who watched A Lot of supernatural horror tv made in the late 90s."

Lucian looked confused.

"Where any sign of the supernatural was usually coloured contacts and prosthetic fangs," he added, "which apparently I am into."

"While I am happy to hear that you're into it, that doesn't mean it's right for you to hate that aspect of yourself. I know you didn't want to become this, that it wasn't your choice, but it is part of who you are, now."

He placed a kiss on Peter's forehead before he continued. 

"Believe me, I spent over two hundred years hating being a lycan. I would wish, every day, to be a vampire, or even human, so I might have the chance of being turned. Felt that I was horrible and beastly and unworthy of everything good in life, hated the way my eyes looked, the fact that the fangs I sometimes grew were the wrong kind. Hated that the full moon forced me to transform, everything about my wolf shape."

Peter looked down, not able to meet Lucian's eyes.

"Yeah, well, 's different, isn't it."

"How?" Lucian demanded.

Peter shrugged, still looking down at their hands. It wasn't really, was it? If anything, Lucian and his wolf shape was further from human than Peter's fucked up face, but it was different, right? It wasn't like a wolf was a monster, was it? Only, the wolf Lucian turned into was a lot fucking scarier than any Peter had ever seen. And sure, it had been scary in kind of the same way that seeing how Jerry's face twisted and distorted had, but it was still different. It was different because Lucian had been born like this, had always been this and had also always a good person. Peter was turned into this by Jerry's lackeys, and they and Jerry had been monsters. Human eating proper horror film monsters.

"Peter, I know it's difficult, but hating part of yourself is not going to help."

Peter just shrugged uncomfortably. Lucian tipped his head up with a finger under his chin, forcing him look at him properly. 

"If not for your own good, will you try for me?"

His eyes were wide, looking at Peter with such focused kindness that it was almost unsettling. Peter looked down, which, in this position, only meant he was looking at Lucian's lips. He saw tiny speckles of blood, and hated that they were now part of the reason he wanted to kiss him.

"Fine," he promised finally, though he was only partially honest, "all right. I'll try."

"Yes?"

"Yeah. Promise."

"Good, thank you," Lucian said, punctuating this statement with a kiss.

His lips were soft and warm against Peter's, and there was just a hint of taste of blood that made it just that much more intoxicating. Upsetting, but he would take it.

"Now," Lucian said, "let's get on the road. It's almost a four hour drive to Castle Corvinus, and we need to get there in good time before sunrise."

-

Romania was very nature-y, Peter had decided by four in the morning. Currently they were driving on an endlessly spiralling road, slowly climbing a mountain. Tall, dark trees rose to either side of them, obscuring any view there might have been even more than the darkness did. It was a cloudy night, and no stars or moon were visible in the sky. Peter was grateful they were both able to see in the dark pretty well, as street lights did not seem to have been a priority. 

"I'm afraid the standard of living won't be quite what you're used to here," Lucian warned as they started to descend the mountain in just as indirect a fashion as they had ascended it.

"Oh, no worries, I survived the hotel room last night. Well, day, I suppose."

"Ah," Lucian said, "err, well. Look, the castle has been largely unused since early in the twentieth century. And I know no one has stayed there for any significant amount of time since 2003 for a fact. It was never really updated to modern standards. We lycans were thrown out in the early sixteenth century, but I very much doubt the vampires have updated it much. I don't know if there will be things like electricity or indoor plumbing or anything. And even if there were, it's highly unlikely anyone has kept paying for them over the last decade, so they won't be working."

"Ah," Peter said, "fuck. Did not mentally prepare for that, got to admit."

"Yes, that is why I'm telling you now. We'll be there in about fifteen minutes. But don't worry, I should think some parts are still intact."

Peter grimaced.

"Sure, yeah. Okay. It's fine. I can deal. Probably."

"You will," Lucian promised, "I believe in you."

The rest of the drive went smoothly, with Lucian occasionally pointing out where he had been attacked by human mobs, or where particularly brutal hunts had taken place. It did not comfort Peter in the way he thought it was probably meant to.

Finally, they turned onto a broad dirt road, and Peter began to understand the choice in car. They drove for a minute or two through dense woods, before a wide field opened up before them. On the other side steep cliffs rose, and into those was built what looked to be a medieval castle, all tall towers and imposing shapes.

"Welcome," Lucian said, "to Castle Corvinus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose, for whatever reason, to write their journey as including zero percent of the parts of Romania I have personally been through, so my descriptions, in adďition to being based on the film, will be more of the parts of Romania North of the Carpathians I guess, but I choose to assume the nature is much the same. Also I wrote this entire thing in the notes app while at work so spellchecking and editing is even more challenged than usual. Sorry🤷♀️


	16. Castle Corvinus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the title hints at, our heroes arrive at the foot of the mountains into which Castle Corvinus is built.

Home. It was strange looking up at the steep cliff side, at where towers protruded. There was a mark in the rock wall a few meters up, from when part of a tower had collapsed during an attack by the humans. When had that been? 1258? 

He parked the car down here, behind the broken remnants of a low stone wall used to hide the entrance to the deepest of the dungeons. There was a well hidden door here, somewhere.

“There’s not going to be a lift, is there…” Peter said in a defeated tone. 

He was staring up at the fortress too, eyes big and black, brows knitted into a frown. Just seeing him here, seeing this weird, spoiled and still so very human vampire here in the place he had come from, ready to critique the place mercilessly, filled his chest with a strange surge of warmth.

“There is not,” he confirmed, walking around the car to pull Peter into a soft kiss.

He rested his head against Peter’s shoulder for a moment, appreciating the lingering heat of him. There was something he wanted so very badly to communicate to Peter, but he couldn’t quite figure out what, or how. So he just held him close, hoping that he understood.

“We’re going to have to go all the way to the top, aren’t we?” Peter murmured, still clearly preoccupied with the stair based obstacle that lay before them.

Well. He would understand eventually.

-

A good thing, it turned out, about not needing to breathe, was that you couldn’t be out of breath, and so the probably twentyish floors they had climbed hadn’t been as bad as Peter had expected. His legs, however, very much did feel like jelly. He sat down on a broken piece of rampart and looked out over the field they had crossed earlier. It spread out below them in three directions, all ending in dense forests, beyond which rose tall mountains. It was stunning, dramatic and wild, and beautiful, and it made perfect sense that this was where Lucian was from. It felt like him. The lycan in question pressed a kiss to the top of Peter’s head, and sat down next to him.

“They’ll come let us into the fortress proper in a few minutes,” he told him.

“This, this is the member of your pack, right?”

Lucian shrugged.

“In as much as my pack exists any more, yes,” he said.

“Are they… I mean. How anti vampire are they?”

Peter’s voice betrayed more worry than he intended it to. Lucian put a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder, rubbing little circles with his thumb. Peter looked, very deliberately, up at the bright moon. It was only a few days away from being full. Lucian had mentioned, as they drove, that he looked forward to spending some time transformed, running through the forests of his home. Which was understandable, and Peter was happy this trip was a chance for him to relive what happy memories this place might hold for him, but it did make him a little bit sad that he couldn’t join him. That he would have to just sit, waiting, like some kind of bat or gargoyle up in this dead, old castle.

“I’ve told her some things about your situation. She will understand. My people have no history of conflict with your species. And our problem with the vampires here were never about the difference between our species, only how they treated the lycans. Their monstrosity was always very human in nature; oppression and violence and cruelty.”

“Hey,” Peter said, then frowned.

Had he any right to speak on behalf of humanity any more? Any reason to feel insulted? There was so very little left, now, of what he used to be. Sure, he looked much the same, felt the same, but only as long as he kept drinking blood. If he refused, well. He would turn into some ghoulish half bat monstrosity, some creature driven insane by starvation. Lucian spoke of vampires going into the ground, staying in sarcophagi for centuries at a time, becoming wizened, living mummies, and then being brought back to normal, healed by the consumption of blood in just a day or two. He was pretty sure he couldn’t do that.

“It will be fine,” Lucian promised him, but could he really know?

“It will be something,” Peter begun, but was distracted by the screeching of ancient, rusted metal beginning to move, grinding against itself in what sounded like agony.

They got up, looking towards the gate as it slowly was forced open. The court yard beyond was worn and overgrown, with ivy creeping through the cracks, and some adventurous trees growing through the gate. It was clearly newer, from centuries after Lucian’s time, and added a sort of Gothic vibe that had presumably been desirable in the 19th century some time. 

“Come on,” Lucian said, leading the way in.

Peter followed him, their steps echoing on the stone floor. Inside, next to some sort of ancient looking system whose gears whirred back into pained life pulling the gate shut behind them was a woman. She looked rather like Peter had imagined female lycans might look; tall and muscular looking, with long, tangled dark hair pulled back to show off shaved sides. Her arms beneath the sleeves of her t-shirt were covered in scars, and there was a prominent bite marked scarred into her neck. Strong hot stoic lesbian vibes, which made sense. The impression was ruined just a little bit when she ran up to Lucian excitedly, looking as if she was on the verge of throwing her arms around him before suddenly remembering he was the pack leader.

“Lucian!” she said, “it’s so good to see you at last.”

“And you,” he told her, smiling and patting her shoulder.

Peter lurked in the background, uncertain what to do, whether to interrupt. He looked around the moonlit court yard, and felt stupid for not knowing enough about history to know what anything was. In his defence, though, many of the smaller structures were worn, and partially collapsed in on themselves where weather or other factors had destroyed the wooden supports. In what looked like it might have been the smithy a bird had made it’s nest.

“… is Peter.”

Peter whirled back around to look at the two lycans, attention caught by his own name.

“Yes,” he said, “hey.”

The unfamiliar lycan, whose name he hadn’t caught, was looking at him with narrowed eyes. He had a few guesses as to what she was thinking. That he was a monster, that he shouldn’t be here, that he wasn’t good enough for Lucian. He gave her a strained smile, then looked to Lucian for help. But he seemed not to have noticed the slightly awkward tension, and was simply smiling warmly at him.

“Uh, well,” the lycan said, “I’ve gotten a couple rooms cleaned up for you.”

She added a few sentences in what Peter could only assume was Romanian, and Lucian nodded. 

“Follow me,” she added, and Peter did, walking still a little behind the two of them, heavy bag slung over his shoulder.

They entered through a huge and ancient seeming wooden door, which swung shut behind them with a heavy and ominous thump. But they were the monsters here, Peter reminded himself, there couldn’t be anything worse than them skulking in the shadows, could there? Along the wall several torches rested in sconces, burning bright and warm, but somehow they didn’t make the place feel less creepy. There were remnants of tapestries on the walls from several time periods, but time and moths had greatly impacted them. Peter wondered what a historian might make of this place.

They wandered the halls with purpose, the two lycans continuing their conversation in Romanian. It wasn’t to exclude him. Probably. It wasn’t that they were talking about him. Probably. Just nice for Lucian to be able to speak his native language again. Probably. 

Peter pulled his phone out of his pocket as he trailed behind them, trying to find the wifi signal for a good few minutes before he remembered what Lucian had said about the electricity situation. Shit, so he would even be able to charge his phone without going all the way back down to the car. But then, there was no signal either, so it wasn’t like he would have much cause to use it. His camera, though. That was another matter. He had promised his people he would be posting regular updates, do some light vlogging, but he supposed they could do some short drives to nearby pockets of civilisation. They were only about a thirty minutes drive from Braşov, Lucian had told him, which he had been lead to believe was a reasonably large city.

They walked for what felt like ages, but was probably no more than five or ten minutes, until the lady lycan came to a halt outside a large wooden door.

“I thought safely down in the dungeons would be best for your vampire friend,” she told Lucian, barely glancing at Peter, “and I’ve prepared the room next to-”

“That won’t be necessary, my dear, we’ll be sharing this one, I think,” Lucian told her.

She frowned, looking between the two, and then her eyes widened.

“Oh- Oh, I didn’t realise, I’m sorry. Yes. Of course. By the way, Lucian, I tried to open- open _her_ room, but I didn’t manage to.”

“No, I had it sealed. Part of my deal with Kraven when he took over the castle.”

The her had to be his long dead wife, Peter thought, but he had forgotten whether Lucian had mentioned the name Kraven before. That just meant coward, didn’t it? Stupid name for a werewolf or vampire. He watched the woman disappear down the corridor, and once she turned the corner he slumped against the wall, bag dropping from his hand.

“Is everything okay?” Lucian asked.

Peter shrugged.

“Much as it can be, yeah. Bit tired. Don’t suppose this place has hot showers?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Lucian pushed the heavy door open to reveal a spacious room. The walls, floor and even ceiling was stone, but covered in tapestries and carpets that looked like they had been preserved significantly better than those they had seen on the way. Against the centre of one wall stood a large four poster bed, with heavy drapes pinned up to reveal incongruously modern sheets and pillows. He hadn’t voiced this to Lucian, but Peter had secretly worried that it would be all coffins and no beds here. Directly opposite, where any normal room would have had a flat-screen, was a large fireplace, which seemed to be the main light source in the room. There were candles in holders on the night stands, which seemed to Peter to be a massive fire hazard. And no windows, either, just one tiny slit in the wall the seem to face some sort of inner empty well situation. Far too small to be a fire escape. Definitely not up to any sort of code. He dropped his bags inside the door and walked over to collapse onto the bed.

“What do you think?” Lucian asked, setting his things down with more care, pushing the door closed and sitting down next to Peter.

Peter looked up at him, and Lucian stroked his hand across Peter’s forehead, smiling warmly down at him.

“Well. Don’t think your friend likes me.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Lucian said, but then his features slipped into doubtful crinkles.

“Well,” he amended, “perhaps she doesn’t quite like you yet. She worries, about your nature. But I explained the situation, and she will help.”

“Because you’re her boss,” Peter pointed out, shifting so the side of his face pressed into Lucian’s thigh.

Lucian made an uncomfortable noise but didn’t actually disagree.

“I like the place so far, though,” Peter said, feeling a little guilty about how negative he was being, how negative he felt.

Which brightened Lucian’s eyes, and so he elaborated.

“The landscape, it’s stunning. Not used to mountains like this, not so used to seeing places quite so lonely and wild. It’s a bit like you. Makes sense, you coming from here, sort of. I mean, mostly the nature part, not so much the castle part. You don’t really seem like a castle person, if I’m honest.”

Lucian’s fingers stroked through his hair, and Peter’s eyes fell closed. This place might be strange and slightly uncomfortable and, whenever he got back to some reception, be getting one star on yelp, but Lucian’s presence made him feel safe. Safe and loved, which was a slightly overwhelming realisation.

“No,” Lucian agreed, “I suppose I’m not. We slept in the cells, you know. Well, not the actual cells, but the same part of the dungeons. Just hard stone alcoves with some hay to rest on, if we were lucky. Took me a long time to get used to the concept of beds.”

Peter made an unhappy noise, nothing he could quite manage to articulate. Lucian talked about these things with nothing more than mild melancholy, but it felt like a knife in Peter’s chest every time he talked about his time as a slave. He pushed himself up, pulling Lucian into a tight hug, resting his chin on top of Lucian’s head.

“Nothing bad should ever be allowed to happen to you again,” Peter told him firmly.

“Well,” Lucian said, “I think that’s a little bit too ambitious, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Peter leaned back, looking at him, his hands still on Lucian’s shoulders.

“No,” he said, voice serious, “you don’t understand; I’ve decided.”

Lucian laughed, and leaned in to kiss him. Peter had the sneaking suspicion that he hadn’t taken him entirely seriously, but it was always good to have a quest.

They sat a while on the bed, Peter drinking another bag of blood, this time with much less body horror involved. It was just the eyes and teeth now. Lucian thought it might be because he hadn’t let himself get so starved. Which was a good sign, but also possibly Lucian’s attempt to convince him that drinking blood was a good thing to do. In retaliation Peter bullied Lucian into eating a bunch of protein bars and some beef jerky equivalent they had picked up at a deeply cursed petrol station a few hours earlier, because the lycan seemed entirely focused on Peter’s health and well-being and not his own.

As the fire began to die down, they undressed, and huddled together under the thick duvet and elaborate bedspread. Peter curled himself around Lucian, holding him tight, burying his face in long thick hair. He wanted so very much to just be as close as (in)humanly possible, to make Lucian feel- to make him feel wanted and cherished, to make it so extremely clear that he hadn’t deserved any of the bad things that happened to him, that as far as Peter was able he would be protected, however much he might not need it.

-

Peter blinked, shivered, and huddled closer to Lucian. There was, however, a problem with this, as Lucian was not there. Peter squinted at the room, but there was no Lucian to be found. The light streaming through the slit in the wall, indirect as it was, told him that it was some time in the middle of the day, but not sunny. There were not even embers left in the fire place, and the spot where Lucian had been was barely warmer than the room. So he’d been gone a while.

Peter lay waiting for him for about fifteen minutes before he gave up. He felt to unsettled to go back to sleep, so he pulled on his jeans and his hoodie and his boots, cursing his remaining ability to feel the cold as he shivered. He headed out into the dark hallway, pulling the heavy door shut behind him. The torches had all gone out, but his eyes barely needed light, now, so he was perfectly able to see where he was going. Navigation, however, proved difficult.

“Shit,” he muttered, walking into another dead end.

The castle’s layout was labyrinthine and organic, having been built across centuries, and as such made absolutely no sense to him. Fortunately, as vampires had built it, there was little risk of running into accidental sunlight, but still he was frustrated.

“Looking for the bathroom?” a voice said behind him, and he jumped.

He turned to see the female lycan from earlier silhouetted in a door he had just passed.

“A little early for you to be up, isn’t it?”

She looked amused. He shrugged, irritated but trying not to show it. She was, after all, supposed to be helping him find a less violent way to feed.

“Looking for Lucian,” he told her, and her face fell, just slightly, just for a moment.

“He is up in his princess’s room,” she told him in very faintly accented English, “I heard him opening it up about half an hour ago.”

“Oh.”

Peter didn’t quite know what to do with this information, didn’t know if he was supposed to go back to bed, to let Lucian have his moment alone. He tried to work out what he would want. If Peter were busy grieving Ginger, would he want Lucian to come there and be there for him? The answer was a resounding yes, but while she might have been his long term girlfriend, and someone who he had loved, in some way, it wasn’t quite the same. Sonja seemed very much to have been the love of Lucian’s life. Would he want Peter to intrude on his grief, his memories.

“Follow me,” the lycan told him, with a roll of her eyes, making the decision for him.

She lead him up several floors, until they were solidly above ground, and directed him to the end of one corridor. The walls here were made of higher quality stone, the architecture newer, more refined and less worn down. At the end of the hallway there were some steps down, then a half corner, and then he was there.

A heavy door stood slightly open, and on the dusty carpet in the hallway lay an enormous and incredibly elaborate padlock, as well as several heavy beams of wood. From within he could hear faint sounds. Very carefully he pushed the door open enough to step through, avoiding the debris. Lucian must have heard him arrive, mustn’t he? If he wanted him to leave he would say so?

This room was far less dark, and even had a pair of windows in dark green glass. Which seemed an odd choice for the bedroom of a vampire, but perhaps it was UV-proof glass. Or they just had heavy curtains. Whatever the case, Peter did not burst into flames upon entering, which was good. Again, he assumed that if that had been a risk Lucian would have stopped him.

Sonja’s bed chambers were larger, and infinitely more richly decorated, even if it was clear from the thick layers of dust and moth eaten fabrics that the room had stood untouched for centuries. There was intricately carved furniture, paintings on the walls, and the remnants of what looked to have once been beautiful carpets on the floor. Against one wall was a bed similar to the one in their room, but significantly bigger, and on top of the dusty covers Lucian lay curled up, gently shaking as if with silent sobs.

Slowly and quietly, giving Lucian ample time to protest, Peter sat down on the bed behind him, brushing away some of the dust. He rested a hand on Lucian’s side, feeling his heaving breaths. After a few moments, Lucian’s own hand came up to rest over his own, which Peter took as permission to be there. He lay down behind him, once more curling around him as well as he could, holding him close.

Lucian seemed to calm after a little while, breathing slow and quiet, fingers curling around Peter’s hand.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be,” Peter told him.

“I don’t- This doesn’t mean that I don’t- That I don’t like you as much, it’s just, being here. For the first time in over half a millennium, it’s… more than I expected.”

“I think I understand,” Peter said, picturing what going back to his parents’ house now might be like, if nothing was changed, if it was, essentially, some ghoulish mausoleum.

“Thank you,” Lucian told him.

“Course,” Peter replied, “always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basing a lot of the non film descriptions on Cetatea Poenari, the vlad tsepes castle in the sameish sort of area as I'm guessing Castle Corvinus would be. Peter's experience with cliff based stair frustration is based on my still vivid memory of having to climb the 1480 steps up to Castle Poenari in 2007. Anyway this is making me want to go back because it's a really beautiful country. And very slightly spooky. Also Peter didn't remember the hot lesbian lycan's name because I couldn't think of a good one while writing this. I imagining there's a denim vest involved, however.


	17. The Importance of Being Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian wolfes out, Peter vlogs, and some serious conversations with limited Dracula jokes take place.

On the dusk of their first full night in the castle, Lucian left. Well, he didn’t _leave_ leave, didn’t pack up and drive away, but he went out to run through the woods in his wolf shape. 

“Only a few hours,” he had promised, “I’ll be back before you know it. You can do some of your, ah, what was it? Your filming thing. Blogging?”

And Peter had rolled his eyes and corrected him, and reassured him once again that there would only be interior shots, nothing that could identify the castle. It was, of course, not a secret castle. That was impossible these days, but with the way humans were Lucian preferred to keep as many of them away as possible.

Peter followed him out, watched as threw of some kind of robe and let the light of the bright, soon to be full moon help him change. He was definitely getting used to the process now. The trick, he found, was to focus really hard on reciting something in his head, so he had less cognitive resources free to process the noises it made. He could deal with the visuals, grotesque as they were, but it was the sounds of it, which heralded the changes happening inside his boyfriend, that really got him. 

Fully transformed Lucian padded over to him, bending his head down to push his muzzle against Peter’s cheek. He petted the soft, short fur on Lucian’s cheek.

“Be careful, okay?”

Lucian licked against his cheek.

“That a yes?”

Lucian’s eyes were black voids, but Peter could have sworn he saw them roll. Lucian followed up, however, with a nod. 

“Good boy,” Peter told him, with just a hint of a grin, which earned him a low growl.

“Yeah, yeah. Have fun out there. Go kill some small animals, howl at the moon.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of Lucian’s muzzle, and stepped back, watching as Lucian drew him self up to his full, enormous height and stalked out of the court yard. Peter was pretty sure it was faster and easier for him to run on all fours, but he had never seen it happen. Granted, he hadn’t seen Lucian transformed outside all that often, but it was still odd. Perhaps with all Peter’s talk of the importance of being human, he felt self conscious about just how animalistic his wolf form was. That was, of course, silly, and unwarranted. It was mostly his own humanity Peter cared about. It had been shocking, naturally, to find out Lucian wasn’t human, but given all the realities of being a lycan, as opposed to the mindless ravening beasts of werewolf media, it didn’t really matter much.

When he glanced up at the towering structures above him he could see the lycan woman in the window. Watching. He had no real reason to mistrust her, other than that he was a vampire, and she clearly didn’t like that, but she seemed very genuinely fond of Lucian, so hopefully she would put what he told her above what she might think was best for him.

Down in their dungeon room again, Peter unpacked his camera, and then looked around the room. It didn’t quite work, was a bit too nice and cozy. And modern. Couldn’t very well have it look like anyone actually put any effort into maintaining the place, that wasn’t the mood he was going for at all. But he had to get ready, either way.

He carefully removed his wig and various pieces of glue on facial hair. While people, of course, could easily tell from some interviews and candid photos that lay around online that he didn’t usually go around looking like his vampire hunter persona, he still didn’t want to get his audience too used to his real look. He loved the modest fame his show brought him, but he didn’t so much enjoy casual encounters with people who recognised him. Liked to, if he chose, be able to go out to a neighbourhood club and get blackout drunk without anyone realising who he was. And, of course, now there was the added element of secrecy.

The only mirror in the room was tiny and hung on the wall in such a manner that the only useful position put you between the fireplace and it, rendering the lighting abysmal, the flickering irritating even to eyes with excellent dark vision. Still, he managed some appropriately messy eyeliner, and to get his glued on sideburns almost even. He chose some clothes that were more of a casual goth vibe, and debated whether to tie his wig back into a bun, but he had forgotten to bring the fake tattoos, so it was perhaps better to cover his neck up.

He wandered the dark hallway for a bit before finding an appropriately tired looking room. He found an old cabinet which he pushed into position before the bed, spending some time making sure the angle would be right and putting it on night mode. Then he settled on the dusty bed, put on his sunglasses, and smiled to the camera.

“Hi guys, this is Peter Vincent: Vampire Slayer coming to you live- well, not live, this place is too spooky to have reception- coming to you undead from a deeply haunted castle in Transylvania. As you may know, I am taking a break to travel to Europe to do some research on the spookiest castles and vampire haunts to learn more about these horrific creatures of darkness. Today I’ll be exploring the dungeons of a secret castle that was ruled by the vampires in ages past. Hopefully it will be empty by now, but if not, well..” he finished, and brandished a stake.

He left it a moment longer, then got off the bed and stopped the recording. Played it back on the tiny screen with the tinny, horrible sound and green light. Yeah. Yeah, it was fine. He headed back out into the hallway, continuing down it in the hopes of getting some properly spooky shots. 

“We are currently deep in the guts of a fortress where vampires even more cruel and violent than their neighbour Vlad Tşepes tortured and drained their victims. Legend has it that during the construction of this castle several victims were put into the walls of the castle to-”

“That’s not true.”

Peter jumped slightly more aggressively than he would like to admit, and pressed the button to stop the recording. The lycan was standing behind him, arms crossed, looking sceptically at his very good faultless horror vlogging.

“What?”

“Literally none of that is true, why are you filming lies?”

“Look, whatever your name is-”

“Daciana.”

“Terrible name. Whatever. It’s not about truth, it’s about the spooky ambiance. People don’t want to hear mundane truths, and I can’t exactly tell people the actual story of this castle, can I?”

“Why are you filming at all?”

“Well, can’t do my shows, right, and so I gotta do some content. Part of the deal I had to make to get time off to come here.”

“Shows?”

“Did Lucian tell you nothing about me?”

The lycan, Daciana, he supposed, shrugged. 

“Some, yes. Mostly about the vampire thing.”

“Right, well. I do a show, in Vegas, about hunting vampires.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Very ironic.”

“Wasn’t a bloody vampire when I started it, was I? This thing it’s… New. Ish. Been doing the show for years. But yeah, got to produce some semi relevant content while I’m here, to renew enthusiasm, get more people to come see it, get some of that sweet YouTube ad revenue.”

“I genuinely cannot believe you are Lucian’s type.”

“Yeah, well- Okay. Neither can I, to be completely honest, but I seem to be anyway, so I’m not gonna complain.”

There was a few moments of almost excruciatingly awkward silence before any of them spoke.

“Do you want me to show you the torture chambers?” Daciana offered.

“Yes!”

-

A few hours later, with a bunch of great footage of spooky torture devices on his camera, Peter sat on the edge of one of the towers next to Daciana. He was drinking some blood from a travel mug (it felt better when he couldn’t see that it was blood), and she some wine, which he suspected she had chosen simply so she could make a Dracula joke about him not drinking wine. Which was fair, made him respect her, but he also deeply envied her it. The sky was still dark, it was only midnightish, though it was hard to keep track. Peter’s phone had run out of battery, and with the lack of reception he hadn’t been bothered to go down to the car to charge it yet.

“You think he’ll be gone much longer?” Peter asked, taking another sip of the blood.

He was a bit worried that, as she had gotten only human blood, he would get too used to it, and either the synthetic or animal stuff would feel not enough, lesser, when he changed. For now, though, he was at last getting used to it, managing to feed often enough that only his teeth and eyes changed in response to the taste.

“Probably not,” she replied with a shrug, “he will not want to leave you alone for too long, probably. He seems very smitten with you.”

Peter swallowed down more blood to keep himself from saying anything that would make him sound pathetically eager or needy, although of course he was. Very literally, he needed Lucian. Otherwise he was stuck in a country where he didn’t speak the language in the middle of absolutely nowhere with a werewolf who only sort of thought he might not be terrible. 

“You know him well, then?”

Another shrug.

“He was the one who turned me, nearly a century ago.”

Peter stared out into the moonlit night for a few moments, thinking, scanning the forest for a dark shape moving closer.

“What’s he like? I mean, we’re close, I would say, what with the sex and him helping me with all the vampire stuff and-” he gestured vaguely at everything, “but I’ve only known him a few months. What’s he like, you know, usually?”

“Difficult question,” she said, and drained her wine glass, setting it down on the uneven stone next to her, from which it immediately toppled, falling to it’s barely heard breakage nearly forty meters below.

“Ah,” she said, “Shit. At any rate, yes. He worries a lot. Up until recently he always had a large pack, most of the lycans alive, to rule and protect. Or, not rule, not really. He was very clear on that. But he was our leader, and we all listened to him, and he has always made good choices for us. Well, perhaps with one exception.”

“2003?”

“2003.”

“But like, as a person?”

“Very kind. Of course, he was already 700 years old when I met him, but he always seemed like he tries to be kind, even if it’s challenging some times. He worried a lot about us being good, civilised, as good as the vampires in every way. To the point of getting angry, sometimes, if people acted a little too… feral. I think, perhaps, he still carries some scars from his past about that, some worry that he’s too much wolf, whatever he says.”

“Makes sense,” Peter said, “from what he’s told me about growing up here. Seems pretty shit.”

She only raised her eyebrows, then looked back out over the edge, at the dark landscape.

“How’d he find and bite you, then?”

She looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“Just interested,” he said, holding his hands up, palms out, “just making conversation.”

His fake eyebrow piercing almost fell out every time he made too intense facial expressions. He had yet to take the costume bits off, mostly because he’d forgotten about it. The fake moustache had some blood in it now, but on the grainy night vision footage no one would be able to tell. It would be fine.

“I lived in a small village outside Timişoara, which is close to the Serbian border. Of course, all that was a little different, then. It was just after the first world war, 1919, while the borders were changing, everything was in upheaval. The village I came from was small, and quite… Quite old fashioned. I suppose everything was, back then. But everything seemed to be changing back then, and I thought it might get better, but not there. I had a… There was a girl.”

“Isn’t there always,” Peter agreed.

He could hear the faint and distant sound of a howl, which meant either that Transylvania was leaning into its spooky aesthetic or that Lucian was headed back. Peter chose to believe it was the latter. He resisted making a joke about the sweet music of the children of the night, but only barely.

“I thought we wanted the same thing, but when I asked her to run away with me to one of the big cities, when I kissed her she… She rejected me, and, worse, told everyone what I had done. My family, what was left of it, an aunt and a grandmother and some younger sisters, they all refused to let me come home, to speak to me at all. The whole village turned on me, told me I had to get out.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “I had a- Well, not a similar experience, because this was the nineties in England, so, you know, bit more accepting, but someone reacting to me a similar way. It’s… Not great.”

“So I left,” she continued, not replying, but he saw from her face that she acknowledged what he had said, “went walking towards the nearest bigger city with nothing. I had no money, no form of transport, and only a vague idea of where I was going. But however poor I looked, still some people tried to rob me, convinced I was hiding coins or jewellery or something in my dress. And they got quite angry when it became clear they had been wrong. Quite violent. I don’t know if Lucian heard my screams or if he just happened across me by accident. Whatever the case, as I lay there, bleeding, unable to move much, I saw this huge and monstrous wolf above me, who slowly shrank down into a naked man. Which, let me assure you, was about equally scary. But he held my hand and asked me what had happened, and after I told him he offered me eternal life and the ability to turn into a wolf.”

“Seems like it was an easy choice?”

“I was dying and terrified. I was willing to try anything, but I’ve never regretted it,” she said, with confidence.

“Bit envious of that, if I’m honest,” Peter said, running a hand through his hair.

“Being beaten to death by bandits?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Having a choice,” he explained, making a face at her, “course the choice bit. I didn’t get that. Didn’t even get to know. Lucian tell you how I was bitten?”

She nodded.

“Much rather be a lycan,” he muttered, “not having to drink blood, not having to hide from the sun, not having to worry if an errant priest blessed the water in my bathtub.”

“Has blessed bathwater been a big concern for you so far?”

“Well, no, as most people would agree, Vegas is pretty godforsaken. But the other things? Yeah. I don’t think the sun will immediately incinerate me yet, but I really hate the blood drinking part.”

She made a face.

“It doesn’t taste so bad.”

“No, it tastes really fucking good, that’s the problem. I hate it. Really hate it.”

They sat in silence for a little while, occasionally broken by howls that were growing slowly closer, and the flutter of bats going to and from their nests in the crevasses of the castle.

“Has he told you,” Daciana asked, pulling the hood of her jacket over her head, alerting Peter to the fact that despite the chilly autumn night he hadn’t felt cold at all while they were up here, “about his theories on vampire-lycan hybrids?”

“Oh yes,” Peter said, “at length.”

“And?”

He shrugged uncomfortably.

“Seems risky. He said he’s not sure it’ll work, that I might die. That it’s not a guarantee we’re even like, compatible, me being the wrong kind of vampire.”

He said this last part with particular bitterness, and he thought he could glimpse sympathy in her face. 

“Besides. Not sure I want to be any less human than I already am, you know?”

“I can kind of understand that,” she said, and it seemed like she intended to continue, but they were distracted by steps getting closer.

Lucian emerged from the stairwell a moment later, pushing open the wooden hatch. His face was slightly flushed, his eyes bright. They had clearly been talking for long enough that he had had time to change back into human, and go down and get dressed. He was wearing a dark grey t-shirt with just enough of a v that a little triangle of chest hair peeked out, which Peter thought was an excellent look on him. The black joggers he was wearing were just a little tight, and Peter had a sneaking suspicion that they had come from his closet, not Lucian’s. Which he was into.

“Have fun?” he asked, rising to meet Lucian and being pulled into a hug.

“Very,” Lucian murmured into his ear, and punctuating it with a kiss.

His hair, wilder than usual, had some blood and twigs in it. He smelled like forest and freshly killed prey, which Peter wasn’t aware he knew what smelled like until that very moment. Worrying. Daciana looked between them, then to the side.

“I will leave you two alone for a bit,” she said, disappearing quickly down into the interior of the tower.

Peter sank his hands into Lucian’s hair, tugging him into a kiss.

“Ready for some more fun?”


	18. Under the Light of the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tower sex, untranslated declarations of ?? and more thoughts on Peter's state of being and Lucian's lack of a rigorous biomedical education.

“You’re still wearing your costume?” 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sort of forgot about that. You mind?”

Lucian sank his fingers into the long hair of the wig, tugging Peter closer and only shifting the wig out of position a little bit.

“Not at all. I think you’d look good if you grew your hair out,” he told him, and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Oh, trust me, that would not look like this, I’ve tried. Only grows out completely straight. Not this vibe at all, just kind of look like an undedicated metal head.”

“Why would your head look like metal?”

Peter rolled his eyes at him, which Lucian found he often did if Lucian asked a question about one of the many nonsensical things Peter said. But that was fine, because he followed it up by kissing him again.

“I just mean,” Peter explained, his breath almost warm against Lucian’s skin, “that it wouldn’t look like this. Not everyone looks as good with long hair as you do. Also, we’d look too much alike.”

“I suppose this hair will have to do, then” Lucian said, but he had a feeling that Peter wasn’t entirely convinced, as he had pressed one of his legs in between Lucian’s, and could definitely feel how excited he was.

“You know, actually, give me a moment, gonna take this off if you don’t mind. Expensive as fuck, don’t want to ruin another one,” Peter said, pulling back from Lucian.

He whined at the loss of contact, drifting after him, needing his touch. There was something about being back here, being able to run through the forests and mountains of his home that made him feel alive, made him want to see some of that life in Peter. And, well, perhaps part of him wanted to have sex on top of this particular tower again. It brought back memories of what it was like in the early stages of his and Sonja’s relationship, sneaking around and finding what opportunities they could to be together, to show each other their love in often quite a carnal way.

“There, ready now,” Peter said, insinuating himself back into Lucian’s arms

He slid one hand around Lucian, under the waistband of his joggers, smirking when he found no evidence of any underwear. Peter leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his hand moving, finding Lucian’s cock. Cool fingers stroked along overheated flesh, and Lucian moaned, pressing into the touch, pulling Peter closer.

Lucian kissed Peter once, briefly, then pushed him down so he was sitting with his back to the low wall protecting them from the long drop from the tower. Peter’s skin had just the slightest flush. So he had fed while Lucian was away. Good. Lucian worried sometimes that he would have to remind Peter to stay alive, but it seemed he was getting more used to the idea. Excellent. 

He settled himself in Peter’s lap, grinding down against him, the feeling of how hard he was for him always a thrill. Pushing the fabric of his sweater up to reveal pale skin he licked against Peter’s neck as he felt all the soft edges of him. Peter’s hands were on his ass, as if trying to pull him even closer, impossibly so.

“You bring any lube up with you?” Peter asked, breathless.

“Left pocket,” Lucian murmured against his skin.

A minute or so later they had traded places, and Lucian was pressing slick fingers up into Peter, feeling the tight ring of muscle clench around him. Peter’s hand were in his hair, his chin resting on Lucian’s head, alternately pressing back against Lucian’s fingers and his cock against Lucian’s stomach.

“I’m ready,” Peter insisted for the third time, punctuating his statement with fucking himself back on Lucian’s fingers.

And, well, Lucian wasn’t about to argue this time. He poured more lube out onto his hand, shivering at the cold, and slicking himself up. Peter lowered himself onto him with a little help, and then that sweet pressure closed around his cock, swallowing him deeper until Peter was resting in his lap. He leaned his forehead against Lucian’s for a moment, breathing deeply more out of habit than need. Then he started to move.

Lucian threw his head back, looking up at the moon as his eyes paled and his fangs grew out. Peter looked down at him with eyes like voids, lips parted to reveal teeth like needles, and Lucian leaned up to kiss him. Fangs clacked against each other, lips wet and hot, Peter’s tongue snaking out, so much _longer_ than it usually was, to lick into Lucian’s mouth. It was somewhat of a struggle for each to keep from breaking the other’s skin, and so Peter moved on, kissing down Lucian’s throat, with just enough of a scrape of teeth to leave thin red lines, but no blood was drawn.

Peter’s thighs trembled with effort, his movements getting uneven, his needless breathing ragged. Lucian closed his fist slightly tighter around Peter’s cock, intensifying the pressure. He was getting close, too, thrusting up against Peter as much as he was able, but also looking up at Peter, at the look of concentration on his face. The moon reflected in his black eyes, light glinting of innumerable fangs like needles. 

When Peter came he moaned something that one could, if one were being generous, interpret as Lucian’s name. And right now, Lucian was feeling terribly generous. Peter clenching around him, spilling into his hand and shaking above him was enough to send Lucian over the edge too with just a few more thrusts. 

Peter leaned his forehead against Lucian’s. He breathed heavily, all he could hear his own pulse, all he could feel the weight of Peter above him.

“Te iubesc,” he whispered, but Peter seemed to dazed to hear.

-

Peter clung to Lucian tightly. He had drunk blood, and they put their clothes back on properly, but still the warmth of him was magnetic. Lucian’s arms were wrapped around him, and he didn’t seem affected in the least by the cool night air.

“You two seem to have gotten closer?” Lucian asked after a few minutes of stroking delightfully warm hands along Peter’s back.

“Mm. Found we had a subject in common.”

“Oh?”

“You.”

“Oh.”

“She told me all about you saving her life,” Peter told him, leaning over to plant a kiss to the little exposed triangle of skin on his chest.

Lucian hummed in agreement, or perhaps content, hands tightening their grip on Peter by a fraction.

“That how you converted most of your pack? Finding people in need and saving them?”

Lucian nodded.

“Some, yes. It is important to me-” he paused, winced, showing just a hint of fang still, “It has been important to me to try not to turn anyone against their will. And most humans, if they lead happy lives, do not want to become inhuman and have to leave everything they know behind. Much like you.”

“Dunno how happy I was,” Peter murmured.

“Well, happier human than not, no?”

Peter sighed, and felt a kiss against the top of his head.

“I mean. Probably wouldn’t have kept your attention if I wasn’t though.”

“Perhaps you would not have gained it as quickly, but I assure you, I like you for more than your fangs, Peter.” 

He laughed, and informed Lucian that he was, in fact, an idiot. But a very sweet one. They remained out on the tower for a few more minutes, then gathered their things and returned down into the bowels of the castle. 

“Will you stay tonigh- shit, today? I really am going to have to get used to that bit.”

“Yes,” Lucian told him, joining him on the bed, draping an arm over Peter’s side, pressing his chest against Peter’s back.

“I’m sorry I left yesterday, but I-”

“It’s fine,” Peter assured him quickly, “I don’t mind, I’d just like to know, you know?”

“Of course,” Lucian said, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

It wasn’t quite dawn yet, but when they had left the tower there had been just the faintest sheen of dark blue to the East, heralding the approaching morning. Peter closed his eyes, feeling the slight movements of Lucian’s chest, hot breath against his neck, the way he could feel his pulse where Lucian’s wrist touched his stomach. He hated this awareness of life, and how it thrust into sharp relief his own near absence of it. 

“Your buddy found anything more on the synthetic blood?” he asked.

“I believe she has some leads,” Lucian said, “but I can’t guarantee how promising they are. But we will figure it out, Peter, I promise you.”

“Cause I’ve been thinking,” Peter continued, “about your suggestion.”

There was a pause.

“Which one?”

Peter could feel the slight speeding up of his heartbeat. God, he really wanted it, didn’t he. Did that make it worse? Did Lucian thinking of it as possibly fulfilling some sort of destiny, some ancient quest of his make it less of a possible solution? Peter didn’t know.

“You know which,” he said, grateful now, that he wasn’t facing him, not sure he could have borne the hope undoubtedly present in his eyes.

“Yes,” Lucian breathed, “what have you been thinking?”

Peter tensed, bracing himself, though he could not quite tell for what. For Lucian’s enthusiasm? For his own misgivings? For giving voice to hope?

“That it might not be so bad, might not be bad at all. I mean, if I do survive, if it even works.”

He didn’t mean to undercut himself like that, not really, but hoping for what very much seemed like a magic solution to all the downsides of vampirism was too much of a risk. Lucian was quiet, and Peter was terribly aware of how close those potential fangs were to his throat, how close he could be to having a bite mark that matched Daciana’s. Oh. Weird thought. Somewhere else. Definitely somewhere less conspicuous than side of the neck. What sort of vampire-ass placement was that, anyway?

“I won’t try to sway you either way,” Lucian told him, “But at the penultimate stage of my experiments with creating a hybrid I injected myself with some of the blood of the only human descendant of Corvinus who had the unique genetic makeup that would have allowed him to survive both bites. It’s diluted, of course, by mine, but if I were to give you a transfusion, it might help the process be more successful. Should you, of course, decide to risk going through with it.”

“Yeah,” Peter said.

He wondered what the appeal really was for Lucian. Jerry had had dominion over the ones he turned. Lucian wouldn’t, would he? He wouldn’t want to. Maybe Lucian liked seeing his mark on the people he turned? Probably not. Right? He felt like he knew Lucian so well, had trusted him with his life repeatedly- well, what was left of his life, anyway, but really, after such a short time, how well could they know each other? Would they be inexorably bound together for the rest of eternity if he went through with it? Until either of them at last died for good?

“If I do, if it successful,” he began, trying to distract himself from his doubts, “and I bit a human, would they become a vampire or a werewolf or both? Or just die?”

“I don’t know,” Lucian said, “but I almost suspect the latter. It is a lot for a human system to take.”

“Hmm,” Peter said.

“Why’d you give yourself this guy’s blood, then? Want to be one yourself?”

He felt Lucian shrug against him.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“And yet you never found a vampire willing to put their fangs on you? I mean, surely, if you and Sonja had the ability to, by banging, create a hybrid, then surely your blood must have the potential too?”

“I needed the blood of another vampire, too. Nearly had it, when Kraven betrayed me, when he nearly killed me,” Lucian said.

There was little emotion in his voice, but Peter couldn’t tell whether that was an active choice or if he simply cared less than he had before.

“How did you figure that out?”

“Bit a scientist. Didn’t want to risk dying, leaving my people.”

“Wait, so then it was okay to bite someone for your own need?”

Peter squirmed around in Lucian’s grip, turning to face him.

“No,” Lucian told him, voice calm and patient, “he was dying of cancer. He was quite eager for the bite, when I explained my proposal to him. Immortality for a slight change in his field of study.”

“Oh. All right. And he told you you needed this specific vampire’s blood?”

Lucian nodded.

“How do you know he was right?”

“I suppose I don’t,” Lucian mused, “but there aren’t many biochemists among lycans. Bit of a late development, that field, for most of us.”

“Yeah, I suppose you grew up with the fucking humoral theory of medicine, didn’t you?” Peter said with a grin.

“Maybe,” Lucian admitted, looking slightly defensive.

“Either way,” Peter added, “I’ve not made up my mind either way.”

“There’s no hurry. I waited six centuries before even getting to the first step,” Lucian told him with a small smile.

“Yeah,” Peter said, “yeah. Probably.” 

He yawned, and scooted downwards a little, so he could press his face into Lucian’s chest. These days the steady beat of his heart was the best way, Peter found, to calm his mind enough to sleep. 

“Good night, love,” Lucian told him, with a kiss to the top of his head.

“Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read the Underworld wikia extensively (which, to me, is like 10 minutes) to attempt to understand precisely how the fucking corvinus strain works, and it's still only barely applicable because of the nature of this crossover so I've decided that fuck canon I'm making my own rules. Also I've temporarily abandoned duolingoing welsh in favour of romanian, so prepare for very poorly formulated romanian because I like languages and I am making that everyone else's problem.


	19. Road Trip to Braşov

After sunset they got into the car, and drove down the mountains towards Braşov. They had finally gotten something back from one of their sources, and Lucian was headed there to talk to them. Peter came along, if he were being honest, mostly because he missed people and life and, most especially, wifi. His phone was plugged into the charger in the car, and he kept desperately refreshing it to see if he had gotten any reception yet.

“It will come on automatically,” Lucian pointed out, but he was from the medieval times, and he did not understand Peter’s burning need for digital connection of any kind.

He gave up eventually, figuring that it might charge more effectively if he wasn’t turning it off and on again quite so much. Slumping back into the seat he stared out of the window at the tall trees passing by them.

“You know what I miss?”

“What?” Lucian asked.

“Colour. Everything’s all grey in the dark. I mean yeah, I can bring a torch and whatever, or look at photographs and films, but I bet the nature here’s beautiful in the daylight.”

“It is,” Lucian admitted, glancing at him briefly before returning his attention to the ever twisting road.

“Do you think I’ll be able to walk in the sun again? If you bite me? That I won’t have to drink blood?”

“I am not entirely sure what the effects would be,” Lucian told him carefully, “but that might be the case, yes.”

“You think I’ll be able to turn into a wolf, like you?”

“You might,” Lucian said, “to some degree. Again, I do not know the exact details, as it has, to my knowledge, never happened before.”

“I know,” Peter said, “I know, I just. I’m thinking about it, is all.”

It had been a few days since last they had talked of it, and Lucian had tactfully not brought it up, for which Peter was grateful. He had given it quite a lot of thought, though. Watching the two lycans sharing the castle with him and wondering what it might be like to be more like them. He had wondered how it might feel to let his body change, to grow claws, to fall to all fours and run through dense woods and over tall mountains. And most of all, to perhaps be able to do so in the sunlight.

“Would you like it?” he asked, “If I were like you? If I could turn into a wolf too, and we could, I don’t know, roam the woods together or whatever transformed lycans do?”

Lucian didn’t answer right away, his eyes remaining focused on the road.

“I would,” he said at last.

“Does that bother you? That I would like it if we were… were able to share that experience?”

“I don’t know,” Peter answered truthfully.

-

They pulled into a carpark somewhere in the centre of Braşov, and Peter shoved his laptop, the card from his camera and his phone and charger into a bag. He let Lucian lead the way. 

It was an oddly short city, he thought. Although it wasn’t all that much smaller than Vegas, at least when it came to population, all the buildings were short and squat, few rising more than four floors above the ground. As they had driven in he had seen taller buildings, but they had all been tall, soviet style blocks of flats, and somehow he didn’t feel like those counted. 

It was a Friday night, and so the streets were quite busy, bright neon lights spilling out from clubs, and restaurants and late night cafés were filled with people. They looked around until they found one that specifically promised free and fast wifi, and settled at a corner table. Peter set up his laptop while Lucian went to order them drinks. He slid the SD card into the slot on his laptop and, after popping in an earbud and angling himself so that no one would be able to see his screen, started to review the footage he had.

Lucian returned with espressos for them both. Peter had found that he could consume human drinks in small quantities, and though caffeine no longer had any effect on him, he missed the taste. It was weaker, now, everything that wasn’t blood tasted sort of faded empty, hollow, but the small, strong shots of coffee, especially if he added some sugar, was enough to give him a hint. He leaned in to kiss Lucian’s cheek in thanks, but Lucian held his hand up between them.

“What?” Peter demanded.

“They’re not… I mean, people aren’t always all that open minded here. I don’t think we should try to draw any more attention to ourselves than we need to, all right? Hard to go unnoticed if we get in a fight with humans.”

“Oh,” Peter said, and frowned.

He had not considered this, and after so long living in Vegas he had gotten used to no one caring too much about that stuff, at least other than old people glaring at him when he made a point of it.

“All right.”

“We’re already likely to attract some attention. Autumn’s not really tourist season, so foreigners stand out.”

“Right,” Peter said, adjusting his sunglasses, “well. I’ll be quiet, then.”

He gave Lucian’s hand a squeeze under the table, then went back to focusing on reviewing and editing what video he had. Given their meeting with Lucian’s contact just a few hours later he didn’t have all that much time, but that was fine, because he also didn’t have all that much footage. Well, not that he could use, anyway. For roughly half his filming in the torture chamber he had accidentally turned off the night vision setting, and so it was all black. He cut that part quick. But otherwise, it was good. Or, well, it was effective. The camera was shaky, the resolution less than optimal and the sound tinny and low quality, but it all added to the sort of horror found footage feel of it. His own performance, however, did not. He wondered if he should take it in some narrative direction, with the follow ups. Add some storyline about chasing a vampire or something? Certainly an option to think about. 

About an hour in, he let himself take a break. Lucian was looking just a little bored, looking at something or rather on the phone.

“Sorry,” he told him, “just hard to do this work somewhere with no electricity or wifi, you know.”

“Of course, I understand,” Lucian told him, with a faint smile.

“See any fun and exciting news?”

He leaned in to take a look at Lucian’s phone screen, but it was all in Romanian.

“Mm. Attacks nearby. Unexplainable.”

“Oh?” Peter asked, “Thinking we do some hunting while we’re here, then?”

“Perhaps,” Lucian said, “we will have to see how today goes first, I think.”

-

 **@PeterVincent_VampireSlayer:** in spooooky[ghost emoji, vampire emoji] transylvania rn preparing to upload some of my findings so far… utube link 2 follow (16.10.2013, 22:47 CET)

 **@PeterVincent_VampireSlayer:** thx 4 all ur feedback, looking 4ward to filming some more stuff 4 u guise, but right now, I got a vamp to hunt… :O (16.10.2013, 23:46 CET)

 **@PeterVincent_VampireSlayer:** will b doin some sortof giveaway situation w/ tickets + some cool spooooky stuff from here in the near future, stay tuned.. (16.10.2013, 23:57 CET)

 **@PeterVincent_VampireSlayer:** [photo upload: a selfie of Peter, in wig + make up + sunglasses, posing next to a skeleton and holding a stake, lit by a torch on the wall] (17.10.2013, 00:12 CET)

-

Their meeting was at one in the morning, and so at half past midnight they packed up and left the café/bar place at which they had been stationed, heading out into the still noisy streets. Young people wearing very revealing clothing and drinking beer out of cans walked in unsteady clusters, and Peter thought about how long it had been since he had gone out and gotten properly shit faced. Too long, definitely. When he got back home he was going out, if only for the ambiance. Alcohol, tragically, didn’t have much of an effect any more, although he had worked out a decent bloody mary recipe that used actual blood.

They walked for perhaps twenty minutes, only having to stop occasionally to check the maps, Lucian defensively saying he had not been there since the eighties, and things had changed. Their destination, it turned out, was an old church on the outskirts of the city, bordering a stretch of forest. Peter was dubious, but then, he was unlikely to actual light on fire as soon as he stepped foot in the building. Probably. He wondered again what the exact rule was regarding what representations of faith and which faith worked on him. Would it make a difference that this was an orthodox church, as opposed to catholic or protestant? And he still hadn’t tested out synagogues or mosques or any other houses of god. 

It turned out fine. He did not light on fire, nor feel the slightest itch, and he attributed his immense unease when he entered more to the small group of very serious and spooky looking men waiting for them by the altar than any aversion to god. 

“Oh, these guys look threatening,” he said, quite without thinking.

Lucian put a hand on his shoulder.

“Peter, I know you’re from England, but I am begging you to understand that just because you can't understand their language it doesn’t mean they can’t understand yours.”

“Right,” he muttered, feeling more upset than he should be, and hanging half a step behind Lucian as they approached.

There were three men there, all big and bulky looking guys, dressed in black. He was pretty sure they were human, though he couldn’t be entirely certain, but he could see the clear outlines of guns under their jackets. Not great. He did not fancy getting shot tonight. 

They spoke with Lucian, all in Romanian, and Peter grasped very little, though he recognised words that sounded like vampire, and something about blood, which, well, that’s why they were there. He looked around the church, which didn’t seem abandoned so much as just left unlocked. It was a little dusty, and someone hadn’t tidied up entirely after whatever the last ceremony in there had been, but otherwise it seemed perfectly normal.

His attention was pulled back when the voices got louder, the words more aggressive. The man in the middle had gotten his gun out, and was gesturing at Peter. Lucian was replying, and there was just a hint of a growl in his voice. 

“What’s happening?” Peter demanded, voice low.

One of the man yelled something at him, gesturing with his gun, and Peter backed up, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Lucian?” he insisted.

Lucian growled, properly this time, loud and threatening, and some stupid part of Peter’s mind thought that was quite hot. His eyes had paled, and fangs had slid out. 

“Get out,” he snarled at Peter, which was stupid, which was nonsensical, but Peter had no time to argue before a shot rang out.

The sound echoed, Peter’s ears ringing as he tried to figure out what had happened. 

“Lucian?”

Lucian snarled, clutching his arm, where there was a tear in his jacket, and steam was rising from it, a fizzling sound like acid. Silver. Fuck. Peter, without thinking, without making the conscious decision at all, lunged at the man with the smoking gun, his eye blackening and fangs growing. He hadn’t really though about his strength growing with his gradual death, but it must have, because he knocked the burly man to the ground. There was another loud noise, and a shock-wave went through him, but he ignored it, jaws opening beyond their normal capacity as he tore into the man’s throat.

There were further sounds, more gunshots and growls, but Peter hardly noticed, too busy draining the life from the man he had attacked, feeling the blood – finally real and living blood, so much better than anything he had tasted before – filling him with strength, healing the gunshot wound in his stomach before it had even begun to hurt properly. 

He tore away finally, and saw another of the men dead on the floor, the last one hiding behind a column, firing off shots in the direction of Lucian, who had taken cover behind a pew and was struggling to reload the gun he must have taken from the dead man. Peter could see there were more smoking holes, his neck, his chest. A primal rage filled him, at the notion of anyone hurting Lucian, hurting someone who belonged to _him_ , which another part of his mind filed away as something disturbing to be examined later.

Peter crept silently to the side, until he was close enough to jump the last human. He felt bullets in his shoulder, one grazing his cheek, but only as abstracts before his fangs were again sinking into soft, vulnerable flesh. The blood filled his mouth, and he swallowed it down, more running down his face, saturating his clothes, running out onto the floor. He felt strong, felt invulnerable, the blood giving him life, knitting his wounds together in seconds. God, he needed more, he needed-

He hissed when he felt a hand on his shoulder, turning and baring his fangs.

“Peter,” Lucian said, crouching in front of him, taking Peter’s blood drenched face in his hands, “hey, it’s all right, it’s over.”

Peter shivered, feeling as if he had just woken up from an incredibly vivid nightmare. He licked the blood around his mouth with a too long tongue, then looked down at the corpse in front of him. The corpse. The man he had killed. The man whose throat he had torn out.


	20. Decompression

“Peter,” Lucian said again, trying to make his voice calm and reassuring.

Peter’s face had retreated to humanity, and was filled with terror and revulsion. He had flinched away from the corpse at his feet, scrambled backwards until he hit the column. There were several holes in his shirt, but the wounds beneath had already healed. The men had, after all, been using silver bullets, and not UV light ones, thankfully. 

Lucian had taken the time to concentrate, to press the silver bullets out from his body, and his wounds were healing, though not quite so fast as Peter, the one that had hit a rib particularly stinging still. His arm, the first place he had been shot, still ached a little bit, but it was perfectly useable at last. He glanced around the room, and listened, but there were no approaching sounds from the outside beyond the usual noises of the city. The church was quite far from everything, surrounded on two sides by large stretches of graveyard, and dense woods on a third. But still, people would come eventually, and they needed to move. 

“Peter, please, we have to get out of here. People will come. We need to take these bodies into the woods, okay? Somewhere they’ll be found a bit slower, where the teeth marks might be interpreted as animal attacks. We don’t have time to dig them graves, otherwise I suppose that would have been a natural way to dispose of them here, but… Peter?”

Peter looked up at him, his eyes red and wet and so terribly human. Blood covered the lower half of his face, running down his neck and down below his hoodie. At least everything he was wearing was black, and so only looked wet. This was going to be hard for him to deal with, but they had to get out of here before they could think about that.

“Okay, love, you stay here and keep watch, I’ll go see if there is a back door,” Lucian told him, wandering deeper into the church.

He found one after a few minutes, from where there was just a few metres walk between graves before one entered the woods. Ideal. As he returned he kept listening for any hint that they might be discovered, that someone had heard the shots and were on their way, but fortunately he couldn’t detect any sign of it. Peter was still sitting in the same spot, gently shaking and staring at the corpse. His tears were mingling with the blood on his face. Lucian crouched down in front of him, cupping his face in his hands, forcing him to look him in the eye.

“It’s going to be okay,” he told him rather forcefully.

“They were attacking us. It was self defence.”

He leaned in to kiss Peter’s forehead. Peter’s eyes, still wide, followed him.

“I’m going to take care of these corpses, okay? And you stay here? Maybe clean up your face a little, if you can manage?”

After a few seconds Peter gave a shaky nod, and Lucian lifted the first of the men, throwing him over his shoulder with a groan. It had been a little while since he had had to dispose of a corpse, but at least these were human.

Lucian found a spot about ten minutes walk into the woods, at the bottom of a hill, near where he could smell a wolf pack had been not too long ago. He didn’t like the idea of shifting the blame on them, but he didn’t see that he had a choice. Although he had always hated the vampires would call him and his fellow lycans dogs, he did genuinely like wolves. They were one of the few animals who didn’t instinctively fear lycans, sometimes even daring to approach him when he was transformed. Perhaps they too could sense how closely related they were.

It took nearly 45 minutes getting all the three corpses out there, and collecting their weapons, stuffing them into Peter’s computer bag. Lucian even found some cleaning supplies in the administrative part of the church, managing to mop up most of the visible blood. It wasn’t that he didn’t think anyone would notice, what with the two bullet holes high on the wall, but it might at least take them some time, during which Lucian and Peter would be long gone. He helped Peter get cleaned up, too, rubbing off dried and sticky crumbly blood with gentle touches.

The walk back to where they had parked the car felt like it took three times as long as it had the other way. Peter walked slowly, like in a daze. He still hadn’t said anything, merely looked at Lucian with frightened eyes. It was a relief when they finally closed the doors of the car, locking out the sounds of the city. Lucian had to remind Peter to put on his seat belt, had to take his hand and promise him that things would be fine, because he had gotten so used to how much Peter complained when things didn’t go his way, and this silence was terrifying.

They drove in silence for the first twenty minutes or so, Lucian glancing over at Peter every few minutes, just to make sure he was still there, that he was, at the very least physically okay, if clearly not emotionally.

“You need to bite me,” Peter said.

“I do?” Lucian asked, trying very hard to keep any emotion out of his voice.

He was, of course, pleased to hear Peter had at last come around, but he didn’t think he was quite in his right mind now, wrecked with guilt as he was.

“I can’t live with myself if this is what I am. I need you to bite me so I can… So I won’t be _this_ forever.”

He sounded so disgusted with himself that it made Lucian’s heart ache. Lucian wanted to say that they had to wait, that Peter needed to consider it, to not make any rash decisions, but he didn’t. Not yet. Peter did not seem to be in the mood to be argued with, and neither did he seem ready to hear what Lucian had to say about how what he did was okay, it was justified. He was too deep in self hatred at this moment.

They passed the rest of the drive in silence, Peter curled up in his seat, staring out of the passenger window. Lucian tried to focus on the driving, but his eyes kept drifting over to the dark shape next to him. Did Peter realise how many people, both human and vampire, Lucian had killed over the centuries? If he knew, truly knew, would he hate him? Would he want nothing more to do with the monster Lucian was, or did he understand that it was in the context of war? And would he be able to come to terms with what he had done tonight? That too, after all, had been in defence. In defence of Lucian, which though not really necessary was still very sweet. But then, it was entirely possible that Peter did not understand the exact amount of silver needed to do serious, permanent damage to Lucian. Perhaps he really had thought Lucian might die. He likely had, otherwise he would probably have been able to stop himself from attacking the men quite so violently.

There was something, Lucian thought, incredibly appealing to him about Peter losing control in order to protect him. About his abandoning his conviction to not murder humans in order to save Lucian, even though it was clearly killing him. And it had even, it seemed, convinced him that he ought to accept Lucian’s bite, and Lucian couldn’t help but feel happy at the prospect. Not as much as he felt guilty, though. It was a horrible thing, finding joy in what brought Peter so much anguish, but he couldn’t help it. But if it worked, if he became some sort of hybrid, surely that would be better for Peter? The possibility of seeing the sun, of no longer having to rely on blood? Surely that was worth losing some more of his humanity?

When they got to the castle, and had climbed up all the way, Lucian lead Peter down again to their room, and Peter felt, at least, well enough to make a comment about how his legs must be getting stronger from the absurd amount of stairs involved in castle living. He sat down on the edge of the bed, staring into space as Lucian set about the time-consuming and laborious task of heating water for a bath.

He carried in a large metal bathtub, and nearly an hour later it was filled with steaming hot water. Peter stripped out of his wet and sticky clothes, riddled with bullet holes, laying them to the side, and let Lucian help him into the tub. He sat motionless, eyes closed, but let Lucian use a wash-cloth to get off the last stubborn patches of blood. 

“How are you feeling?” Lucian dared to ask as he poured water over Peter’s hair, getting out the last of the blood from there too.

The water had turned a light pink. 

“Not fucking great, Lucian.”

Lucian closed his eyes, annoyed at himself, but kept massaging Peter’s scalp, and the vampire did lean into it, so at least he was enjoying that part, it seemed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your bloody fault, is it? ‘S mine, I’m the-” he broke off, made a choked noise, but Lucian could guess what would have been next.

“Just… Peter, if there is anything I can do to make you feel even a little bit less terrible, please tell me?”

Peter turned around, rising to his knees, water splashing. He took Lucian’s hands in his.

“You can bite me. Turn me into less of whatever the fuck kind of monstrosity I am now.”

“I can,” Lucian admitted, seeing the wild look in Peter’s eyes, “but not right now.”

“Why the fuck not?” Peter demanded, but his voice was all desperation, not anger.

“Well. I think you ought to think about it for a little longer, given how long you needed to get used to the idea at all and- no, wait. And. I think we ought to wait for the full moon for two reasons. Both so, should you gain the ability to transform, you will have a month to prepare for it, and because the closer to the full moon, the stronger the influence of the wolf. If we want to, I suppose, neutralise more of your vampiric qualities, that would be our best bet. Also, of course, we will need the equipment for the blood transfusion. But I can send Daciana to buy that from Braşov, we don’t need to leave the castle if you don’t want to.”

Peter deflated a little, leaning back in the water, though his hands still held onto Lucian’s. 

“All right. Yeah, okay. I… That sounds like it makes sense, I guess.”

Later, as they were laying in the bed, not because it was getting late, but because Peter had declared it his mission not to go anywhere he might risk attacking anyone or anything, which apparently included whatever ghosts might linger in the hallways of the castle, Lucian made up his mind. He was laying with his head pillowed on Peter’s chest, an arm thrown over him. He could hear the faint beat of Peter’s heart, still active after his feeding, and his skin was still warm. He felt almost like he was mostly human again. It was strange, how much it changed, very different from the almost frozen state of the vampires he was used to. He pressed a kiss to Peter’s sternum.

“I’ve got something important to tell you, Peter,” he said, and felt him tense.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing bad, I promise you,” Lucian added, finding Peter’s hand with his and squeezing it.

“What?”

“I love you.”


	21. Are You Sure?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter handles things badly, which could easily be the summary of both of my Lucian/Peter fics as a whole.

"I love you," Lucian whispered into Peter's chest, words directed at that faintly beating heart. 

Peter's first thought was that so did he. His second thought was just a long stream of question marks. The third and final thought was whether he could pretend to be asleep. Certainly his pulse was low enough to pull it off, but he could feel Lucian squirming, uncomfortable, waiting for an answer, but still not moving to look up at him.

"Why?" He asked at last.

And now Lucian pushed himself up on his elbow, looking Peter in the eye.

"Why? What do you mean, why? Because... because I do."

His face was all confusion, a little hurt sprinkled in. Should Peter have just said it back? Possibly. It wasn't as though he hadn't had the thought that he loved Lucian, had even thought so frequently of late, but it just didn't feel right, not yet. He wasn't ready to say it, wasn't even ready to feel it.

"Why... why now? Are you saying it to make me feel better? Or is it because I- because I murdered those people? Does that like, turn you on?"

His tone was more aggressive than he had intended, but it was taking all of his willpower not to storm out, not to hide beneath the covers and hope Lucian would do the storming out on his own, though he was far too sensible and good for that sort of thing.

"No! Of course not! Peter, you can't think that, not truly!"

Peter shrugged, uncomfortably, crossing his arms over his chest, looking pointedly anywhere but at Lucian.

"Is it being here, then? Am I cold and dead enough to remind you of your dead wife? Being in the place where you lived together... You already said me being cold and dead reminded you of her, right?"

Lucian frowned, sitting up, seeming genuinely upset, now. 

"Peter, I don't understand. Are you angry with me for telling you?"

"That's not a no," Peter pointed out, hating himself for it the very moment the words were out.

"Peter," Lucian said, looking lost and helpless.

"Maybe you should go up and sleep in her room," he said, voice full of a spite he felt mostly towards himself.

"If... If that's what you want, I'll leave," Lucian said, the hurt in his voice obvious now.

"Fuck," Peter said, burying his face in his hands.

"No," he said after a short but deeply uncomfortable silence.

"I don't know," he added, face still hidden.

He peeked out from behind his hands, seeing Lucian sitting at the edge of the bed. His head was bowed, his eyes downcast, and Peter suddenly felt terribly bad.

"I'm sorry," he said, crawling closer to lay a hand on Lucian's shoulder, "I really am, it's just.. whenever someone has told me they loved me it has been... weird, it's been the beginning of the end of a relationship, and I.... I don't want this to end."

"Then I'm sorry for imposing my emotions on you," Lucian told him, not looking up.

"No, Lucian, it's..." Peter grasped for the right words, but they fluttered out of his reach like a newly woken colony of bats.

"I'm.. I'm not good at emotions, all right? I mean, clearly you've gathered that by now but... it's just, this is all a bit overwhelming, you know? There's so much stuff happening right now, with me, with everything. With everything tonight, and here, and I'm dying, Lucian, and frankly that's kind of a lot."

Lucian sighed, and turned his head, bending to press a kiss to the back of Peter's hand.

"I understand, Peter. It's fine."

"Sure? I l- I feel.... Lucian-"

He faltered, closing the space between them and leaning his head on Lucian's shoulder, pulling him close to him, willing him to understand what he currently felt unable to say. Lucian didn't push him off, but didn't reciprocate either. Peter let go, feeling weird and hurt and guilty at the same time. Lucian rose.

"I'm not going to leave, because I don't think you should be alone tonight, but I am going to change, if that's all right with you?"

"Of course," Peter said, "yeah."

He watched as Lucian stripped down, rolled his shoulders, as the fur broke through skin and muscles grew. Listened to the sound of bones moving. He felt like he maybe owed it to him to be comfortable with it, especially given this was what he was trying to make Lucian turn him into. It was still a rough process to watch, and made perhaps even worse by the thought that he might be forced to experience it for himself on a monthly basis. But. But it couldn’t be all that bad, could it? Because Lucian did it fairly often. It was not so bad that he would not rather go through with it than suffer an awkward, wordless sharing of their bed.

"I'm sorry," he told the large wolf creature now standing before him.

Lucian blinked at him, and padded over to lay to down on the floor next to the bed.

"Oh come on, Lucian, you don't have to do that. Come here."

He patted the bed next to him. Lucian looked up at him with one inky black eye.

"Please," he added.

Lucian sighed one of those heavy dog-like sighs, and then pulled himself up, curling up next to him on the bed, but facing the stone wall. Peter felt like shit. He adjusted his position so he had the comforting feel of Lucian's warm fur against his back, feeling weird, now, about wanting to hold him. Feeling weird about everything.

He had just about managed a few minutes of not thinking about it, before Lucian told him. Managed to focus on the warmth of his boyfriend against him, on the possible reception of his video content, and on what he might be able to do next, whether they might have time to visit the Dracula castles. But that was too good to last, and when he closed his eyes he could see it all happening again, could feel the sensation of his fangs tearing through skin and sinking into flesh, feel the flood of warm blood, of life, into him. And god, it felt so good. It made him want to vomit. It made him want to do it again.

"I feel like shit," he told Lucian, who didn't move or react.

"I feel like absolute fucking shit, because this thing I've turned into enjoyed it. _I_ enjoyed it. Enjoyed murdering those people, _eating_ them. I don’t… I don’t want to be like this, Lucian, I don’t want to be a monster. If I have to live off blood for the rest of eternity, then I guess there are ways to do that, but I don’t ever want to have to drink from living humans again. I don’t ever want to bite anyone. Just blood-bags or frozen animal blood, okay? I know- I’m not saying this was… Fuck it, you know what I mean. I need you to bite me at the full moon, because I can’t live with myself if I risk this ever happening again."

Lucian made a low whining sound which Peter chose to interpret as sympathetic. He reached an arm awkwardly over his side to pet the fur on Lucian's back.

"And I appreciate what you said- no, sorry, that's a rubbish thing to say. I- I am so glad you feel that way, but everything is happening so much right now, and despite how I feel I'm not... I don't feel ready. I'm sorry, Lucian, I would, but-"

He broke off, trying to work out what he was actually trying to say. Did he want to imply as obviously as possible that he loved Lucian back? That he wished he was able to tell him, but just couldn't do it? Did he want to communicate his own overwhelming sense of unease and confusion at every single aspect of his life right now? Or should he just say it, outright? No. If he was going to tell Lucian it should be while he was human shaped, when he could respond properly, when Peter could see his face. Also, crucially, it would be later.

He really hadn't done much to deserve Lucian's love had he? Had only been a problem, made his life more difficult. The man had upended his life for him, had gone on a two week trip with him to try and help him fix a condition he hadn't even caused. Lucian had told him that what drew him to Peter originally was that he felt guilty about bad choices he had made in life, that he had made it his mission to help a random human afflicted by the vampiric infection. Peter wondered if he was worth the trouble. He supposed he had to be, with Lucian saying he loved him. He wasn’t the type of person would say something like that if it wasn’t true. The lycan was far too good a person for that.

“I’m… I am very glad that you said what you said,” Peter said eventually, rolling over onto his back, his head turn to look at Lucian, a hand running absent-mindedly through thick fur.

He waited a moment, but Lucian didn’t react.

“I know it seems… I know I got upset, I know I got weird, and I don’t know why I am like this, to be honest.”

Lucian growled, but very softly.

“Because I’m an asshole? Yeah, that’s probably it. I guess I just still don’t quite get it, y’know? Why you like me, what you even see in me other than a rich dickhead who’s slowly dying and becoming a monster. If I had come over me at that point, if I had known what you knew about me, I would have thought the best thing was to kill me. Don’t know that I would have had the guts to do it, though. Probably waited until there was no doubt. Which I guess makes me even more of an asshole, but every vampire I had seen, still every vampire I’ve seen or met, has been evil. And clearly I am too.”

Lucian growled, turning over to face him, and seeing just how large and scary looking he was, like always, sent a thrill down Peter’s spine. It was still exciting and strange to have this huge monstrous looking thing laying next to him, knowing he would never harm him, only protect him from bigger and scarier monsters. Right now, though, he was glaring at Peter, fangs bared.

“All right,” he amended, “not evil, but filled with murderous instincts. Which I clearly can’t control yet.”

Lucian made a motion that one could, were one being generous, interpret as a shrug. 

“And you understand, don’t you? That I can’t live with that? I know you’ve… You’ve done war, and been forced to fight, and done it of your own volition too, but… That’s not the same, right? I know you killed one of them today too but… Fuck. That’s not bothering me as much as it should. Don’t know why. Too busy being upset at what I did, I guess.”

Lucian made a deep rumbling noise, which Peter wasn’t sure how to interpret, but he followed it up with wrapping a large paw around Peter, pulling him a little closer. Peter pressed a kiss to his paw and then grimaced, pulling a strand of fur from his mouth. Lucian somehow gave the impression of being amused.

“Yeah, yeah, keep talking. When you bite me I will retaliate, Lucian.”

Lucian licked his cheek, burying his muzzle in Peter’s hair, and it seemed that Peter was forgiven for the moment. Not so much that he changed back into human, but right now, that was fine. Peter had a great big scary wolf on his side, one who would protect him from the monsters, even from himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also Peter's reaction is in part based on own experiences because having someone tell you they love you like 3 months into a relationship is wild, although it helps for Peter that he feels the same way, even if he can't quite make himself say it out loud yet. It's just way awkward when people aren't quite in sync.


	22. Cetatea Poenari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Expedition to Castle Dracula

"Why the fuck do you guys like stairs so much?" Peter demanded.

He wasn't winded, couldn't be, what with the lack of breathing, but he wasn't entirely sure his legs worked any more.

"Us?" Lucian asked.

He seemed unfazed because of course he was. Lycan constitutions being what they, apparently, were.

"You. Romanians. Castle dwelling Romanians," Peter explained, gesturing vaguely at the dark forest around them.

They were in the Făgăraş mountains, just below the summit on which the Cetatea Poenari lay in its ruined glory. Peter had counted, and they were about a hundred steps short of having completed the 1480 steps leading up from the carpark down below. It was quite a deserted spot, for a tourist attraction, and not only because it was currently around one am. There was some sort of restaurant situation down there, a place to park your car and a place for tourist buses to stop, but that was about it.

"Well, if you build your castle on top of a mountain it is significantly harder to take for the enemy," Lucian pointed out, beginning to climb the last of the steps, looking back at Peter as if to ask whether he was coming.

"Doesn't look like that went too well," Peter pointed out, gesturing at the ruin that lay above them, imposing in retrospect, but now simply the remains of walls and ramparts, no interiors to speak of.

"That's earthquake damage, Peter. You told me that. On the drive over. From that tourist guide book."

"Right," Peter said, "sure."

They walked the last of the way, emerging from the trees and stairs onto the old stone walls. The view was stunning in the full light of the moon. It was nearly a perfect circle, now, only a day away. The time waiting for it had been both torturously slow and violently fast at the same time, though not in a way where it balanced out. As it was, it's nearly fully potent light shone down, illuminating the mountains surrounding them. The harsh fall down towards the river snaking between the peaks, the endless sharp shapes. Had Peter had any breath, the view would have taken it away.

He sat down on the edge of one wall, feet dangling over the sharp drop down, absent-mindedly rubbing at the crook of his elbow. They had been doing the blood transfusions for a few days, now. They both healed almost immediately, and Lucian's blood replenished itself very rapidly, so they had been able to do quite a few. Hopefully it would be enough.

Lucian joined him, sitting down so close their thighs touched, dropping the bag he was carrying behind him. 

"What do you think? Other than the stairs?"

"The view is pretty good," Peter said, pointedly looking at Lucian's face, but he was busy staring out at the mountains and didn't notice.

"It is," Lucian agreed.

He leaned against Peter, an arm around his back, his head resting on Peter's shoulder, his long dark hair hanging down, obscuring his face. They sat together in a comfortable silence for a while, communicating only through light little touches that they were aware of each other, appreciative.

When the moon emerged from behind the clouds it had briefly been using as shelter, Peter got out his camera. He scooted back, setting it up between the two of them, facing him. Lucian, understandably, did not wish his faceto be publicised. Peter set it up on a small tripod, instructing Lucian in its basic function so he could perform some minor cameraman tasks.

"Ready?" Lucian asked, as Peter adjusted his wig into place.

Peter gave a nod, breathing deep and getting into character.

"Hey guys, I am here tonight in the medieval castle of Vlad Dracula himself."

He talked briefly of the history of the castle, and Vlad III's use of it, and his life. The exciting part, of course, was all the impaling, the astounding cruelty of violence the man had been capable of, despite probably not being a vampire.

"I'm lucky enough to have a local guide with me today, though he prefers to stay unnamed and off camera."

He nodded at Lucian, unnecessarily, who gave him a small smile, still both amused and confused by this whole endeavour. 

"So, am I right in thinking there is little evidence that Vlad was a vampire?"

"He definitely was not," Lucian confirmed.

"Aww, no, can't you do like.. a proper accent? You know, so you sound local, and not like just another brit?"

Lucian raised an eyebrow.

"Nu pot face asta, draga mea," Lucian told him.

"Well," he replied, "my Romanian is pretty non existent but I'm fairly sure that was a no."

He was also, however, fairly sure that mea meant mine, at least if it was as close to Latin as he had been promised. And draga sounded kind of similar to dracul. Had Lucian called him his dragon? Well, Peter had been called significantly worse pet names.

"Vlad III was a fairly horrible person," Lucian continued, "but there is no evidence he was anything more or less than human. In fact, the Dracula of the novel is based on him mostly in name, rather than any personal qualities, unless you feel the vampire's penchant for real estate is comparable to the taking of land in the process of war. Also, he was not a count."

"As much as the thought of having Dracula as a landlord is quite terrifying, no, I don't think so. What can you tell me about stories of vampires in this area?"

And Lucian went on to give a detailed and entirely fictional account of folklore and superstition in Transylvania, peppering in just enough details to make it feel more real than whatever books on the subject Peter's viewers were likely to have read.

They got a few more shots of the castle in the moonlight, and of Peter walking along the walls, long coat fluttering gently in the wind. Lucian had not seemed to impressed with Peter's thorough explanation of how to manipulate a coat for maximum drama, but then, he did have a lot of experience with real vampires, who according to him far exceeded Peter's level of gothic drama. It was enough to almost make Peter want to meet them.

They sat back down again, Lucian’s back against a wall where it sheltered them a little from the wind, and Peter between his legs, leaning back against his chest. Lucian’s hands were locked around Peter’s stomach, his chin resting on Peter’s shoulder, pressing little kisses against the side of his throat as Peter played back the footage they had gotten on the tiny screen of the camera, trying to work out if they needed anything else.

“Should I get some of you on the walk back down?” Lucian suggested, and Peter was mostly paying attention though the slight rasp of his beard against the sensitive skin of Peter’s throat was quite distracting.

“It might be more flattering that way, you might look less out of shape than on the way up.”

“Hey,” Peter said in mock outrage.

“That might be good, yeah,” he added, “and some more shots of the view up here. Wish we could have gotten it in sunlight, too. Less spooky, but I bet it’s beautiful.”

“We might yet,” Lucian said, “you might be able to go out in daylight by the day after tomorrow, and it’s only a half hour drive.”

“Please don’t get my hopes up, Lucian. It might all go to shit, might not work, might kill me.”

“It might,” Lucian agreed, “but I don’t think it will. Are you scared?”

“Course I’m fucking scared,” Peter said, “absolutely fucking terrified, but it’s the only way. I want to- I _need_ to be more like you.”

“I am flattered,” Lucian told him, pressing his lips against the shell of Peter’s ear, “and I understand. I think you could learn to control it, but I will support you in whatever choice you make. And remember, even with the blood transfusions, it’s never to late to stop if you regret it. I won’t mind, although I cannot help but be excited at the prospect of sharing this part of my existence with you.”

“I can’t take that chance,” Peter replied, camera forgotten in slack hands, eyes looking up to where the moon was half hidden by a cloud, “I really can’t, and if there’s any chance you can cure me of needing blood, then that’s worth the risk, however much it scares me.”

“I hate that I cannot promise you that it will be safe. It’s uncharted territories, but I do believe it will work, even if we cannot guarantee what the exact effects of it will be. But I will do my best to keep you safe throughout it,” Lucian said.

“I know,” Peter told him, abandoning the camera in his lap to take Lucian’s hands in his own, “I know you will, and I trust you to, fully. Which is weird, right, it feels very weird trusting someone so much, but I do. Feel like I have trusted you with my life for a while now, but you just. You make me feel safe, always. You make me feel like you want me here, and I don’t understand why and – no, hold on, let me finish, and I can’t help but feel that whatever happens tomorrow, whatever your bite does, it will make things better, because being more like you will, by definition, make me better.”

Lucian’s hands squeezed his, and he could feel arms tighten around him, like he wanted to hold Peter as close as he possibly could. He wondered if this was Lucian’s way of doing what he had tried to do earlier. To wordlessly communicate that he loved him without actually saying it out loud. Which Peter appreciated. There was too much going on right now for him to deal with complex and overwhelming emotions out loud, but knowing Lucian was there for him, supported him, and wanted to protect him, it helped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and Peter's interpretation of what Lucian tells him is wrong. I know I've not been providing translations, I'm just assuming people google translate what I put in in different languages, but please tell me if you'd prefer I put translations in the notes or whatever. Also please google pictures of the Făgăraş mountains and castle Poenari it's so incredibly pretty there. I want to go back.


	23. It's A Full Moon Tonight II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time

By the time night fell on the day of the full moon, Peter estimated that he had slept for a total 3 hours out of the last 48. He was incredibly anxious, tossing and turning in the bed the whole day, attempting to calm his mind by reading so he would disturb Lucian’s slumber less, but he couldn’t focus. He longed for internet on which to fuck around, that was far more distracting. There was also the fact that he had only brought a copy of Dracula (not his signed first edition, which lived in a glass case in his flat and was worth more than his expensive car, but a cheap paperback he had picked up, covered in notes), and it was not as riveting as it could be.

They had done the last of the blood transfusions just before dawn. Peter hadn’t been able to sense a difference in himself yet, but Lucian told him the infection didn’t work that way. Peter had asked whether, then, it was in his saliva or something, although of course it could not be. Perhaps it was something injected by their fangs, like some sort of snake’s venom. Whatever it was, Peter dreaded its effects.

He could die. The bite could very well kill him, he had gathered from what Lucian had said. He had also told Peter that that was unlikely, but these last few days he had hedged every statement with the fact that this was new, that they couldn’t know what would happen, could only hope for the best. It was starting to drive Peter mad, but at least it would soon be over. Whatever would happen would, well, happen. 

Peter sat in the room he and Lucian had shared for the last week, jittery and stressed. He had just fed, downed so many bags of blood that he thought he might burst. It would be better, Lucian had thought, if he was at his strongest, when his body was closest to life. Apparently being slightly closer to human would let the lycan infection take stronger. At least in theory. Currently the main consequence was that Peter’s heart was beating again, racing as if making up for lost time. It felt weird, now, he was so terribly aware of it after its absence. It was like actively feeling the clothes you wore or the air around you, only on the inside. It unsettled him even further.

Half an hour later, Lucian came down to get him. 

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“No,” Peter replied, “but let’s do this.”

He let Lucian lead him up to the top of the highest tower of the fortress. Perhaps because they were physically closer to the moon? Peter wasn’t sure, and asking like that felt a bit silly. Perhaps it was just for the drama of it, in which case he both understood and respected that choice. Someone, presumably Daciana, had carried up a small table, on which rested a first aid kit, another bag of blood, and a pile of loose bandages. Whatever happened Peter was pretty sure he wouldn’t need those, but he appreciated the thought. 

“I’m going to transform before I bite you,” Lucian told him, his hands on Peter’s shoulders, eyes that had already gone pale blue looking deep into his.

“Because that makes it stronger?”

“I don’t know,” Lucian admitted, “but that seems more likely than the other way around. But whatever happens, I am here for you. I will keep you as safe as is in my power.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “I know you will. Trust you.”

Lucian’s eyes went wide, and he pulled Peter to him, enveloping him in a warm hug. Peter buried his face in Lucian’s hair, which in the damp air smelled just a little bit like wet dog. He had the sudden, although not new thought that he really did love Lucian, and he wondered whether he ought to tell him. In case it all went wrong, in case he didn’t make it. It didn’t feel right, though, it felt like tempting fate, like fulfilling some sort of curse on himself. Like if he didn’t say it he would have enough unfinished business on Earth that he would be allowed a longer unlife. 

“Where should I bite you?” Lucian asked after pulling reluctantly away, “the bite will scar. It will hurt, too, but it should heal quickly enough. Especially given your already supernatural healing.”

“Uh,” said Peter, who had forgotten to consider this aspect.

Not his throat. That was too vampiric, and also Peter had seen the size of Lucian’s jaws when transformed, and wanted those away from his weak and breakable neck. No, definitely not there. But where? Where was a place where he could explain away a large scar? He tended to go around wearing quite little, both on stage and otherwise. Definitely nowhere his costume showed. But maybe…

“Left arm,” he concluded at last, pulling up the sleeve of his jumper, “got some scars I was intending to cover up with tattoos anyway, but another scar will do just as well.”

Lucian took his arm in his hands, fingertips stroking over the thin uneven white lines in the skin there.

“Peter…” he murmured, then bent down to press a kiss to the spot.

“Oh, come on, doesn’t matter, was a long time ago,” Peter told him, focusing on the feel of soft lips surrounded by raspy beard against partially numb scar tissue.

Lucian just looked up at him, pale eyes big and sad. Which wouldn’t do at all. Peter leaned in to kiss him, letting his hands sink into long hair, enjoying the feel of just a hint of fangs against his lips. They had had sex earlier, long and slow and drawn out, all romantic and loving, and it had been good. Well, mostly good. Peter kept getting stuck on the thought that it might be the last time, which kept putting a damper on his arousal. Partially hence the slowness of it. He thought back on it now, the sensation of Lucian’s skin against his, the soft wet heat of his mouth on him. He really, really hoped he would survive this so they could do it again. As often as at all possible, ideally.

“I’m going to change now, okay. No last thing you want to ask?”

Peter shook his head.

“Only that you fix me.”

“Peter, I-”

“I know.”

He kissed Lucian again, soft and quick and chaste.

“Just wolf out, Lucian. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

He watched as Lucian shrugged his clothes off, folding them in a neat pile on the floor. His skin looked white in the light of the moon, and with the eyes and fangs he looked a bit vampiric himself. Peter found himself appreciating the elegant lines of his body, the contrast of dark brown hair against pale skin, the muscles moving beneath his skin, shifting and flexing as he got ready. 

At last he threw his head back, a howl being ripped from his throat as he began to shift and change. The light of the full moon seemed to speed the process up, make it more fluid and easy than it had looked previously. The fur broke through skin as it darkened to a charcoal grey, growing tough and leathery. His mouth gaped, growing and elongating into a muzzle as fangs grew. Hands grew, fingers becoming long and bony and tipped with sharp and dangerous claws. The whole shape of him grew, bulking up, skeleton shifting beneath the surface, emitting pops and cracks and groans of movement that grated on Peter’s brain like a microplane. 

Lucian fell down to all fours, his breath rising clouds of steam in the cold night air. He padded closer, until he was crouched in front of Peter. He sank down to his knees in front of the massive wolf. They were still, he thought, somehow, separate beings to him. Which wasn’t the case, he knew, but even having watched this it was hard to think of the large wolf like face as Lucian’s, as opposed to some mask hiding the true human one. But it wasn’t the case, was it? This was as much his face as the human one, and as such one Peter must love equally as much. He took the large head in his hands, looking into huge black eyes. 

“You’re a pretty wolf, Lucian. Try to make me a good looking one too, yeah? Don’t think I could stand being an ugly one. Not even sure what that would look like, to tell you the truth. Yours is the only lycan face I’ve seen, but if I look anything like you I think I’ll be good.”

He had a tendency to ramble meaninglessly against Lucian when he was like this, needing to fill the silence when he was the only one who could. Lucian huffed a soft breath into Peter’s face.

“Right,” Peter said, “yes. Biting time. Cool. Cool cool cool. I’m ready for this. Making the choice. Fuck. Okay.”

He pulled off his jumper, tossing it carelessly onto the stone floor, and he thought he could see Lucian looking at it disapprovingly, which coming from a giant werewolf was pretty funny. Peter let out a strangled laugh. His heart was racing now, and even in the cold he was sweating. 

“All right,” he said, reading his arm out, offering himself to Lucian, “I’m ready for this. Bite me.”

Lucian looked at him for a few moments, as if to confirm he really meant it, not moving before Peter nodded emphatically. He bent down, jaws opening and positioning themselves around the upper part of Lucian’s lower left arm almost delicately. Black eyes seemed again to move to look up at Peter, large clawed hands holding his arm still.

“Please,” Peter said, “I can’t wait any longer, can’t be like this any- ow! Fuck!”

Massive fangs sank into his arm, and it hurt really fucking badly. It hurt worse than getting shot had a couple of days ago, it hurt worse than being gnawed on by a pack of newly turned vampires. He had worried that it would feel too much like that, that it would induce a panic attack, but he really had gotten so used to thinking of Lucian as safe that it didn’t even occur to him. He took deep and deliberate breaths as Lucian carefully pulled his teeth out of the flesh of Peter’s arm, blood running down his face, turning the fur on his neck dark and sticky. A warm tongue licked at the bite, and it felt oddly soothing, though Peter could feel the infection in his blood spreading.

“I’m- I think I’m good, I…”

He felt weird, and started to get to his feet, but stumbled. Lucian caught him, strong arms pulling him close, the comforting smell of him working to soothe Peter a little. But his body felt strange, felt wrong. He could feel his blood, sense every movement of it as it made its way through his veins, feel the lycan virus spreading through him, radiating out from his arm. His heart was beating faster than ever, faster, he felt sure, than it was ever supposed to. 

“Lucian… Lucian I don’t feel so-”

He coughed, spitting up blood. An uncontrollable shivering took hold of him, even with the solid warmth of Lucian’s fur against his back. His senses went all weird, suddenly all too much, too loud, too bright, and he shut his eyes tightly, willing his hands up to hold his ears, but they wouldn’t move. It felt wrong, felt bad, and he tried to turn, tried to open his mouth to communicate this to Lucian, but he couldn’t. Just opening his eyes again felt like a struggled, and when he did the world had gotten very dark, had gotten so there was almost no difference, had gotten foggy. His mind had, too, every thought was a struggle to follow, every sensory input an ordeal to perceive, until everything started to fade away. His last thought before he lost consciousness was that perhaps he really should have told Lucian he loved him.


	24. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath II

In Peter’s dreams he could fly. This was a new upgrade, because usually, ever since he was ten, his dreams had been of Jerry eating his family, expanded two years ago to include Jerry eating Ginger and his lackeys biting Peter himself. So the flying, really, was a nice change. He flew over a landscape that seemed like a version of where they were, a Transylvania before modern technology, where the sparse signs of civilisations were all stone castles and wooden cabins. It was all tall mountains covered in dense forest, with rivers flowing around them like thin ribbons. It was beautiful.

He tried to work out how he was flying. There was the sensation of wind against his… hands? The skin there felt odd, stretched thin. The air was ruffling his hair, blowing unpleasantly into his ears and he felt wrong, felt like something he wasn’t supposed to be. From below he could faintly hear the sound of howling, but it didn’t sound like Lucian. When he flew lower, closer to the peaks of the mountains he could see them, gatherings of wolves with their heads thrown back, singing to the moon. He looked and looked, but none of them had Lucian’s black fur. He swooped down ever closer, but the wolves opened their jaws, showing off rows of fangs in a clear display of threat, so he ascended against, wind ruffling his- his what? Not clothes, not hair. Something else entirely. As he rose ever higher it became clear that the moon above him was full, and so he set his course for it, thinking perhaps it might bring him answers.

Peter’s eyes shot open, and he blinked rapidly, confused. He had not reached the moon, which was probably just as well, as he was fairly certain outer space was too cold even for him, undead as he was. Or wasn’t? There was movement in his chest, still, his heart beating. Turning his head to the side he could see Lucian sleeping beside him, an arm thrown protectively over Peter’s stomach. So he was alive. Or undead. Had, at any rate, survived Lucian’s bite. He lifted up his left arm, and saw the bite marks scarred into his skin, huge and white, the area aching a bit still. Lucian really got incomprehensibly huge when he transformed, there was no way Peter could pass this off as a dog attack. Bear, maybe. If no one looked too close, if he didn’t show it off to any zoologists. Doable. There were rarely that many academics at Peter’s parties. 

He let his arm fall back down and tried to take stock of how he felt. Not great, definitely, exhausted and aching and somehow wrong. He ran his tongue over his teeth, but they just felt normal and human. Which wasn’t really anything but what he had expected. Lucian too seemed entirely human most of the time. There was no hollow feeling inside him, no deep need for blood, but then, given how much he had drunk before… Before the bite, however long ago that was, that didn’t necessarily mean anything. There was, he supposed, no real way to know just yet. It might have had no effect at all, and while that would be frustrating, he was at least still here.

Peter put his hand of Lucian’s, moving it so he was able to lace their fingers together. Lucian twitched, and mumbled something in his sleep, but didn’t seem to wake up. Which was good, right? At the start of their sharing a bed he had woken up at any sound or touch, ready for any disturbance to mean danger, but now he seemed to allow himself to relax more, to even while sleeping trust that it was just Peter, being there, next to him. He tugged his hand up, closer to his face so he could lean forward to kiss the back of it, which elicited another soft sound from Lucian. He shifted, moved to wriggle just slightly closer to Peter, and then his eyes blinked slowly open.

“You’re awake!”

“I am,” Peter confirmed, and was about to make some joke about being invincible, but he didn’t have time before Lucian was leaning over him, a hand in his hair, lips on his. 

He kissed him like he was drowning and Peter was a convenient air pocket, like his life depended on it. When he finally pulled back to breathe, Peter noticed that so was he. He was breathing. Experimentally he stopped, ignoring Lucian’s face centimetres from his, looking down at him with boundless adoration. He made it about a minute and a half before he gasped in air. Which was longer than he had usually been able to before, but still he needed it. He gripped Lucian’s shoulders.

“Lucian, I’m breathing!”

“Yes,” Lucian agreed, smiling down at him, “you have been the entire time.”

“That means- That means I’m alive!”

Lucian nodded, breaking lose from Peter’s grip and leaning down to kiss his cheek. Elation filled Peter, he felt like he was floating, like nothing could harm him ever again. Except, possibly, a lack of air. But that was good, he was good with that.

“You did it! You fixed me!” 

“Well,” Lucian said carefully, “we still don’t know exactly what the effects are. But I agree, the life signs are, well, good signs. You’re warmer, too. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed. Less than a human, but perhaps around thirty degrees? Certainly an actual source of heat again.”

Peter frowned.

“That’s not bad, is it? Like you’re disappointed that I’m not…”

Lucian looked at him in disbelief.

“Of course not, Peter. I don’t care what it feels like to touch you, it’s always going to be good because it’s you. And this is closer to what you want to be, so it’s the best possible result. Just because I’ve happened to love two people who are or were vampires it does not mean that that in itself is what I like. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Peter admitted, “Yeah, I guess.”

He moved, throwing an arm around Lucian, burying his face in his chest, feeling their hearts beating out of sync, his much slower, but still there, still trying. He rubbed his cheek against curled hair, feeling the hard shapes of Lucian’s ribs below it. 

“What happened?” he asked, feeling Lucian wrap an arm around him, holding him close, his chin resting against the top of Peter’s head, “after I… After I blacked out, I guess?”

“Not so much,” Lucian told him, “I carried you down here, watched over you. Kept an eye on your increasing vital signs. Waited. And clearly, eventually fell asleep. I didn’t mean to, I wanted to be there for you when you woke up. I wasn’t entirely sure you would, not even with the heart beating, the breathing.”

“How long’s it been?” Peter mumbled into Lucian’s chest.

“Two days or so, I think.”

“Shit. Wait, that means we’re flying back in three days?”

“Yes. Unless you change the tickets, I suppose. But I know they’re expensive.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Peter said, “but my shows do. Condition of me taking time off, remember. Gotta be back for those. Right. So we’ve got three days do figure out exactly what you’d done to me, yeah?”

“I suppose so,” Lucian agreed.

“Well, then,” Peter said, “let’s get to work.”

-

The first thing they did was check whether silver had any effect. Peter got a regular steel knife, slicing a shallow line into the skin of his arm. It bled a little, but closed up in less than a minute. Then he did the same with a silver knife. It hurt more. It burned, felt like someone had thrown salt on the wound, or acid, but it did heal up too, although it took close to fifteen minutes before the skin had knitted itself together, and unlike the steel it left behind a thin white scar.

“Is this the same as it is for you?” he asked Lucian.

He shrugged.

“More or less. It heals quicker for me now, but I am very old and quite powerful. I’ve seen it take far longer to heal for newly turned lycans, even ones turned by me. So while it clearly does hurt you, it seems less dangerous than it could be for a pure lycan.”

“Guess I can live with that, then,” Peter said, “gotta get rid of quite a lot of my jewellery, switch to stainless steel or something, just to be safe. You said your skin had a not great reaction to silver, yeah? Like an allergy thing?”

“Yes,” Lucian confirmed, “but not so bad I can’t deal with it. Had to, for a long time.”

“Right,” Peter said, “yeah.”

Their second experiment was garlic. Daciana had been down to Braşov again while Peter was out, gathering supplies for in case he woke up. Peter plucked off a clove, peeled it, and gingerly nibbled on the very end of it. Nothing much happened, although the taste was stronger than he preferred. He bit off a corner and swallowed it. It wasn’t as if he had reacted poorly to it previously, so that one might just be a myth.

Then there was holy water and crucifixes. Peter settled in an uncomfortable chair, his hand dipped into the bowl of holy water, grasping a crucifix in the other, and waited. And waited. And waited. After half an hour, during which Lucian had been telling him in detail about the process of forging swords, he gave up.

“Look, even before I drank blood I had a reaction after less time than this. Clearly I’m back to being immune to religion. That’s pretty good. Not that it’s been a massive problem, but I guess it means I can safely use religious props in my show, right, so, that’s good.”

Just to be sure he used the steel knife from earlier to nick his skin, and sprinkled some holy water into the wound, but it had no discernible effect. Good.

Next Peter emptied a six pound bag of rice onto the floor to Lucian’s great frustration. 

“I gotta check the counting thing,” he insisted.

“That was never a problem before I bit you,” Lucian argued, and added that he was not sweeping this all up, reminding Peter that the castle had neither electrical power nor a hoover.

After that they spent some time making out on an old antique and consequently deeply uncomfortable sofa of some kind. This was largely because Peter wanted to postpone the sweeping up of the rice, but also because Lucian was there, and he remained warm and solid and comforting and lovely. At one point Daciana walked in, looked at the mess on the floor, then at them, and walked right out again. He didn’t blame her.

Later, and the had had to wait a while for this experiment to be possible, they went to find out what Peter’s reaction to the sun was like. He stood in the shade in the courtyard for a while. It was the first time he had seen it in the daylight, and it was transformed. The warm light of the early morning sun warmed the place, made it seem far less foreboding than it had. Fuck he had really missed seeing daylight. Hadn’t even realised, had been to busy worrying about other things, but it felt so good to finally see it.

Peter hadn’t, at any point, experienced the worst the sun could do to him as a pure vampire. From the time it began to give him bad sunburns after a few minutes he had avoided the light of it all together, and so he only had his experience of starting to gently smoke the first time he was turned left, of seeing Jerry light on fire, screaming in pain. He was nervous. Lucian was behind him, his hand a comforting weight on Peter’s shoulder. Peter took a deep breath, appreciating the need for it, the warmer air of the day.

“We can wait, if you want to. To be safe.”

“No,” Peter said, “I’ve got to know. This is the big thing. Well, the second big thing. Obviously. But. Just. Hmm. Scared.”

He felt the soft press of a kiss against the back of his neck. A warm hand holding his. Another deep breath. Carefully, slowly, glacially so, he stuck the tips of his fingers across the line of shadow and into the bright sunlight. Nothing happened. No burning, no pain, not yet. No smoke, even. He closed his eyes, gripped Lucian’s hand tightly, and stepped fully out into the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deeply leaning into fuck underworld canon I'm making my own hybrid consequences here. Which leads, so far, to Peter being closer to human seeming, but just not quite right. Not warm enough, not quite living, all processes slowed, but still far more so than was previously the case.  
> Also I just really want to thank you guys who regularly comment. It means a lot that people seem to be enjoying what I'm writing, and your comments keep me motivated, so many heart emoji to you<3


	25. The Big Questions

Peter stepped out into the sun, becoming bathed in the cool morning light. His eyes were closed still, his muscles tensed, ready to lunge back towards the shade if anything started to go wrong. It became clear, though, after a few moments, that there was no immediate reaction, no pain, no fire, nothing.

“How do you feel?” Lucian asked, careful not to sound too optimistic, despite how he felt.

Peter blinked one eye open, looking around.

“Squinty and a bit tired,” he said, “but not on fire, so that’s a start.”

Lucian stepped out into the light to join him, delighted to be able to see his face in the light for the first time in weeks. He took Peter’s hand in his, gently leading him towards the walls, to the stairs up to where they could lean against the stone and look out over the mountains. He made sure they were right by a doorway, so Peter could escape back inside if the sun became too much for him.

“It’s kind of magical,” Peter said, his hand curling around Lucian’s.

The black nail polish he wore had almost entirely flaked off, now, black fragments lingering only in the centre. Lucian ran the fingertips of his free hand over Peter’s knuckles, focused entirely on the way he felt. The subtle warmth of his skin reassuring, the gentle rhythm of his just a bit too slow pulse under Lucian’s fingers. He was so very grateful that Peter had made it, that the hybridisation seemed to have been at least partially successful. There was still, of course, the blood thing to figure out. Neither of them had brought it up yet, but after two and a half days Peter ought to be starving, whether for human food or blood. But it was best, Lucian thought, to let him bring that up when he was ready.

“You know, I’ve always been like semi nocturnal, never been a fan of waking up too early, never loved the sun. Specially not after I moved to Vegas. Desert heat is just too much for me, the sun is too intense, but I think I’ve really missed it these weeks. Missed being able to see it, to feel the warmth of it.”

Peter turned to face him, and warm brown eyes sparkled in the light, so filled with life. He was beautiful. Lucian trailed a finger down the side of his face, along the angles of it, the softer curves, down along his throat. His hair hung flatter than usual, but looked shinier. There was no remnants of eyeliner around his eyes, no fake piercings or glued on facial hair, just Peter. Just a normal looking man. Lucian wanted, badly, to tell him that he loved him again. He didn’t. It would be wise, he had decided, to wait until Peter said it back, or talked more about it, or gave any sign he wanted it. It had been rough, his reaction, the first time. But they had talked it over, figured out that while Lucian had intended it as a reassurance, to make Peter feel better about himself, he had seen it as something of an emotional challenge, some escalation of their relationship which had been some sort of demand. So Lucian held his tongue, and just tried to communicate his love with gestures and touches and looks, and from the way Peter looked at him back, he felt like perhaps he understood.

“When I blacked out, or when I slept or was unconscious or whatever, I dreamt that I was a bat.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I was a bat and flying around these mountains at night, trying to find you. But I could only find normal wolves. D’you think that means anything?”

Lucian made a sound intended to communicate that he didn’t know.

“Probably just that you’ve been thinking about vampires and lycans a lot, lately.”

“I suppose,” Peter agreed, “but I always have. Well, at least vampires. Kind of in my job description. And my childhood trauma.”

“Yes,” Lucian said, “I wondered about that. Why do a show where you have to relive the thing that attacked you, killed your family every night?”

“Because in the show I win. I vanquish the vampires and save the victims.”

Peter gazed out at the sunlit mountains again, eyes catching on some distant bird and following its path across the sky. The sun warmed their skin and the stone around them, and it felt for a moment as if everything might be okay.

-

Peter looked at the meal spread out on the table before him with trepidation. On one side a plate with some bread, cheese and dried meat, as well as a goblet of water, because apparently this castle did not come with normal glassware. On the other side was a goblet full of blood.

“You’ll be perfectly able to live off blood even if you don’t need it,” Lucian told him, a hand placed on his shoulder for comfort, “so just because it tastes good or right doesn’t necessarily mean you need it.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, though he remained unconvinced.

He had been trying so hard to put this part off, but he hadn’t fed in nearly three days now, and though he had been unconscious for two of them, he was still feel ravenous, the hunger a black hole inside of him. He didn’t want to know. It had all gone good so far; he could stand the sun, although it tired him, made him feel a little weak, as if just recovering from an illness, but it no longer burned him. He was more or less immune to the common vampire killers. They had not, for obvious reasons, tested what a stake to the heart would do, but presumably that would be a bad time no matter what your species. He had gained a weakness to silver, and it had always been his preferred metal for jewellery, so that was unfortunate, but easily dealt with. So blood. It felt both like he might be able to consume human foods because it had been going so well so far, and also like he definitely would not be able to, also because it had been going so well so far. 

“And even if you have to,” Lucian continued, hand slipping down Peter’s arm to curl around his hand, twining their fingers together, “you are still far more alive than you were, far less vampiric. You can walk in the sun again, you don’t have to be a creature of the night.”

“Mm,” Peter said.

Again he wanted to put it off, to wait, but his stomach was growling and he felt light headed and god, he needed- he needed something. So he steeled himself, breaking off a small piece of bread, and put it in his mouth. Lucian looked at him expectantly, eyebrows raised, trying so hard not to look hopeful.

The bread tasted… Like bread. Which it hadn’t before, it didn’t feel hollow, didn’t feel like eating an empty husk, the memory of a taste long fled. Did this mean? Peter grabbed a piece of cheese, shoving that in his mouth too. God he had missed the taste of food.

“So?” Lucian asked, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I can taste!” Peter announced through a mouthful of food.

Lucian smiled, but it was a careful one, restrained, which made Peter briefly consider. But food hadn’t tasted good before, had made him nauseous, and this didn’t. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it? He drank some water, too, and it was good but not quite… None of it was quite what he needed. A wave of dread filled him, and he stopped, letting a piece of cheese fall from his hand. 

“Peter?”

It felt like there was a small hand clawing inside his stomach, small claws curling into the fabric of it, and- He got to his feet, shoving the chair away so violently that it fell to the floor, but he didn’t get further than the doorway before he started to heave, his throat contracting, leaving him unable to breathe. He vomited up the soggy undigested food mush, leaning heavily against the door frame.

“Fuck,” he said, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” he added.

The black hole in his guts had never left, though the last thing he wanted to do was eat anything more. Which meant… Which probably meant…

Fuck.

Peter sank down to the floor, sitting on his knees, vomit seeping into the knees of his jeans. It was gross and horrible, but he didn’t have the space to care about that right now, only the implications. That he had gone to this trouble, that he had let even more of his humanity go, gotten a big fucking scar for… For nothing. A noise like sob escaped him. He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the cool stone of the wall, gently shaking with despair.

“Peter?”

Lucian’s voice came from right behind him, and Peter felt his hand against his back. He made a noise, some wordless reply, that meant nothing.

“I’m so sorry, Peter.”

Peter sank further down, slumped and awkwardly twisted, knees wet with vomit. And he could smell the blood. Lucian had brought the goblet, placed it down next to him.

“I know you won’t want to, but you really need to feed.”

Peter let out a bitter, high pitched laugh. The smell of the blood was so intense, he could feel his teeth growing into those long fangs like needles. His eyes itched, and he blinked a few times as they changed to black. He could feel the corners of his mouth retreating towards the edges of his face, turning his face into that grotesque vampire face, the hideous reminder of what he still clearly was, despite his breathing and sun tolerance.

He kept his face hidden as he picked up the goblet, brought it to his inhumanly stretched lips. The blood tasted so good he thought he might cry, how right it felt running thickly down his throat making him want to vomit again, and also to never stop drinking it. He wanted to choke on it, to drown in it.

Lucian’s hand rubbed gentle circles into his back as he drank, face still hidden in shame. He knew Lucian said he didn’t mind his vampire face, but Peter knew what it looked like, how ugly, how monstrous and wrong and horrible, and he didn’t want Lucian to think of him as that. As a monster. Wanted, most of all, for Lucian to think of him as human, despite everything he was. He drained the last of the blood, a too long and entirely inhumanly shaped tongue darting out to lick the remnants from the goblet. It was so good. It was revolting. He was revolting.

-

They went out into the sun again to watch it set. Peter had gotten cleaned up, had gotten his face back to normal, but he still felt horrible. He leaned into Lucian, letting him hold him close, planting occasional kisses on his skin, murmuring soft reassurances that it would be fine, that they would make it, that Peter would be okay. He didn’t believe him, not really. Part of him wished for the sun to take effect again, to burn him up, so he could die in his lovers arms and never be able to harm anyone ever again. It would be horrible to Lucian, though. To be the second love he lost in this castle, to the burning rays of the sun. He couldn’t do that to him. However badly he felt, he owed it to Lucian to try to cope with everything.

“I will help you figure it out, Peter, I promise,” Lucian told him, the warm light catching on his eyes, making them look golden, beautiful, angelic.

“I know,” Peter said, and he did.

Lucian had never lied to him. Sure, he had withheld information in the beginning, but if he had told Peter he was a lycan right away Peter would have tried to kill him, and Lucian would have had to stop him, so he couldn’t really blame him for that. But he had done everything he could to help Peter, so much, and whatever else happened he would be in Lucian’s debt forever.

“I know,” he repeated, “and I appreciate it, and you, so much. And I know you made it better, but it still feels… pointless.”

He looked down, at the way the sunset turned the stone a warm orangey purple. At the place where Lucian’s hand rested over his own, warm and solid and safe. Perhaps even safe enough to be able to keep Peter from hurting anyone. 

“I understand,” Lucian told him, “I understand it’s not what you hoped for, what you wanted. I had… hoped that it would work like you wanted, that you would be able to survive without blood. And that we would find the source of the synthetic blood while we were here, but… With the disbanding of the large vampire houses, it’s, well. Everything’s fallen apart here.”

“Familiar feeling,” Peter muttered.

“But I promise you, Peter, you will not become the monster you fear you will. I will help you keep it under control.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. As long as you want me to, I will help you deal with this.”

“Given what we are, that’s quite the commitment,” Peter said quietly.

“I know,” Lucian told him, giving his hand a squeeze, “that’s the point.”


	26. The Importance of Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian and Peter very actively disrespect Viktor's authority and Peter learns more about himself

Peter sank down once again, impaling himself of Lucian’s cock, his thighs trembling with the effort, one arm on Lucian’s shoulder, the other on the edge of the throne. Lucian could see thin rivulets of sweat running down his chest, could see the frown of concentration on his face. His own hand was wrapped firmly around Peter’s length, not so much stroking it as allowing Peter to fuck into his fist as he rode him.

Lucian loved watching Peter like this, loved being able to see him lose himself in pleasure, nothing mattering to him any more except chasing his climax. It helped, of course, that he was doing this by fucking himself on Lucian’s cock, he wasn’t about to deny that, but he really thought he would have been just as happy just to watch Peter like that. He had chosen, for the occasion, to wear a mesh t-shirt, which to Lucian had seemed a spectacularly useless garment, but he had to admit he was seeing the appeal, now. Being able to press the fabric close to Peter’s chest, grasping a nipple between his teeth and tugging lightly, feeling Peter press into the touch. Hearing him let out a moan so loud and prolonged it almost became a howl. It echoed around the empty stone room.

Lucian reached his free hand up to caress Peter’s face, and he leaned into the touch, black eyes blinking open to look down at Lucian. His movements stilled until they were barely there for a few moments as he leaned to down to kiss Lucian deeply, tongues running across sharpened fangs. He rested his forehead against Lucian’s for a moment, inhuman eyes looking into each other. It was a moment for deeply held emotions to be expressed, but neither of them did, not out loud, and so Peter put a hand on Lucian’s chest to steady himself, the other on his shoulder, and continued.

When Peter came he spilled his release across Lucian’s chest and stomach, groaning a wordless noise that bore some slight resemblance to Lucian’s name, were one being generous. Lucian was feeling generous. He slumped against Lucian, resting his head against his shoulder and allowing him to thrust up into him a few more times until he too found his release. He encouraged Peter to let his cock slip out of him, and pulled him into his chest, holding him close. Peter’s preference, it seem, was to go directly from orgasm to some sort of cuddly nap situation, at least in Lucian’s experience, though that wasn’t ideal here.

“Feel all revenged out?” Peter asked, and kissed Lucian’s throat.

“Yes, I think we have thoroughly desecrated the council chamber,” Lucian confirmed.

“I’d be up for desecrating each chair individually,” Peter told him, “but in a little while.”

Lucian smiled, and kissed the top of his head. He had mentioned, repeatedly, during their stay here how much he resented the vampire who had made his life here hell, and it had been Peter’s suggestion that they insult whatever ghost of the horrible vampire might linger by fucking on his chair.

“Think about it,” he had said, “the most hated lycan and his newly made hybrid boyfriend fucking in his chair? He would have hated that.”

And, well, Lucian hadn’t needed much convincing. Although now that Peter, still straddling him, had slumped down into his lap, leaning heavily on him, he was forced to admit the stone chair was not the most comfortable of places. Still, he was glad he had been able to distract Peter for a little while. He had not taken well to learning that he would still need to feed on blood. To Lucian it seemed not so bad, but then, he had known a lot of vampires, and they had never seemed to miss the concept of food. Then again, the one he had known most intimately had been born as such, and had consequently never even tried human food. Perhaps the others had missed it. Perhaps in the middle ages the human existence had been bad enough for most that no one minded giving up this tiny joy.

And okay, yes. Lucian did know that it wasn’t necessarily the drinking of the blood that bothered Peter. Sure, he missed the taste of food and drink, and, as he put it, drinking blood felt a lot like the one smoothie only diet he did once (why Peter would feel the need to diet was beyond Lucian, but then, so were a lot of human behaviours), but the issue was the violence. Was the way he had attacked those humans and devoured their life force without a second thought. Lucian could understand that, he thought, though his own life had been so steeped ion violence that two humans that had attacked them first were nothing. But then, that was what Peter feared. That he would become used to it, that he would stop caring. That he would come to view humans as food. But Lucian knew that was not going to happen, he just had to somehow convince Peter of it.

-

The sun shone down upon them, filtered through the half dead leaves of the trees as they walked. Peter had taken to brooding, and Lucian had thought perhaps some sun and fresh air, now he could withstand it, might help him. And, selfishly, he had wanted to get out here once more, to spend more time in the one place here where he had ever felt free. He was careful to avoid the location of anywhere anything had happened. He knew to steer away from the ruined monastery in which he had sheltered Sonja after humans had attacked their travelling party. He knew also to go around sites of battles, dead remnants of a village the vampires had plundered and killed with his help.

They had been out for a little over an hour when Peter had announced he needed a rest, and had located a comfortable enough boulder to sit down on. While he clearly withstood the sunlight admirably, it was clear that it robbed him of some of his supernatural strength. He got more easily tired than at night, he had less energy. Still, he seemed eager to make up for a few weeks of lost time, and willing enough to explore the land with Lucian.

“Y’know,” Peter said, “I’m a bit sad I won’t get to spend the first full moon here. Bet it’s a good place for going a bit feral.”

“Peter, you-”

“Yeah, I know, you keep being you, I was, didn’t mean it like that. Point is, it seems like a good place to run around as a wolf, you know? More secluded than the desert, further from civilisation.”

“Yes,” Lucian agreed, “but you ought to be able to transform here, if you want to. You don’t need the moon, although it makes it easier.”

“Really? Thought that was something you sort of… You know. A power you sort of gradually gained as you got more, I guess, experience?”

“I’ve seen newly turn lycans change within hours of being bitten, I see no reason why you shouldn’t be able to. If you can, I mean, at all. It might not have been a part of the change, but… You could try it now, if you like.”

Peter frowned, resting his head in his hands and staring down at the undergrowth as if it held all the answers. Lucian sat down next to him, so close they almost touched, but not quite. 

“How do… How do I do it?”

“You just… do. You… You let the…”

He faltered, then fell silent. How did he change? It was a strange thing to try to explain to someone. How did you breathe? How did you make your heart beat? How did you blink? All of it was your brain sending signals to your body, but what signals? How did you formulate a release of chemicals within a neuron? 

“Waiting,” Peter said.

“Yes, sorry, I am trying to think of how to explain it. I suppose I visualise my form and tell my body to make itself into that?”

“But I don’t know how I look.”

“Well, as you said, you’ve only seen the one transformed lycan, only seen me, but I don’t suppose you will look all that much different.”

“What, so picture turning into you? And I just… Will?”

“Perhaps. As I’ve said, nothing is certain, this isn’t-”

“Isn’t something that’s ever happened or existed yet, I know. I’m one of a kind.”

“Yes,” Lucian agreed, bringing Peter’s hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles, “you’re very special.”

Peter made a face at him.

“Would you like to try? It might make your first full moon less frightening if you’ve experienced it before. I’m told it can be a traumatic process to go through for the first time.”

Peter made an uncertain noise, picking up a stick from the ground and turning it over in his hands, prodding at the bark with a fingernail. Lucian gave him time, watched as he thought, punctuating the decision he had evidently made with tossing the stick at a nearby tree.

“All right. Yeah. See if you’ve managed to bite me properly, make me both things, yeah.” 

He rose to his feet decisively, then faltered.

“Uh. What do I do?”

Lucian rose, slipping his hands beneath Peter’s open jacket to run up his sides, pushing at his t-shirt.

“You might want to start with disrobing. Otherwise you might ruin your clothes. The wolf is quite a lot larger than you are now.”

Peter looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“You just saying this to get me naked, is that it?”

“It’s not not it,” Lucian said evasively, leaning in to press a kiss against Peter’s neck.

Still, Peter undressed with only minor distractions, and even let Lucian fold his clothes properly, setting them on the rock next to the bag with his camera equipment. He had insisted on getting some nice nature shot once they were far enough from the castle that the landscape wasn’t immediately identifiable. Lucian had even been convinced to film some only slightly shaky shots of Peter, although he was not wearing his costume for this walk.

“Right,” Peter said, “now what?”

He stood before Lucian completely naked, shivering a little in the cool air. The light shone on the smooth white scar on his arm, where Lucian had bitten him. It felt a little strange, seeing the imprint of his teeth on him.

“It’s kind of sexy,” Peter had said earlier, “like seeing the very physical mark of you on my skin. Makes me feel… Feel like I’m yours, which is kind of hot. And it kind of bothers me, if I’m honest, that I find it hot. Like waking up with a tattoo of your significant other’s name you don’t remember getting. I mean, I know I agreed to this, knew what I was getting into, that there wasn’t any other choice, it’s just… It’s still weird.”

Lucian blinked, refocusing on the matter at hand. 

“Close your eyes.”

Peter obeyed.

“And if you can… summon, I suppose, your fangs and black eyes, it might help. At least as your face seems still to do that, not grow lycan fangs, like mine.”

Peter again seemed to do as he was told, his lips parting slightly to reveal rows of needle like teeth. 

“Good,” Lucian told him, “like that, yes. And then, if you can picture what I look like when I transform, see it in your mind. Feel your body shift and grow, feel fur break through your skin.”

It took quite a while before anything happen, Peter standing there for a long while, his face a mask of concentration, his skin covered in goosebumps. Had they planned ahead for this Lucian would have brought a blanket for him. Eventually, though, he could see the change come over him, a sudden shift.

Peter hunched over, groaning in pain as his spine elongated, his limbs growing, nails turning to claws, ears growing pointed and shifting to the top of his head. Much of it was what Lucian had expected. He got bigger, fur growing in to cover dark grey skin. He was lighter than Lucian, his fur matching his hair, a warm brown. The build was much like a regular lycan, but there were… deviations. A membrane of skin, so thin it was almost translucent stretched between each of his fingers, and from around his elbow to his side, just over his hips. His fangs stayed the same needle like shape they had, rows and rows filling his muzzle. That, too, was slightly off, a bit shorter and blunter than Lucian’s, the snout turned up and flared, like on some bat species. The ears too grew large, bat like, moving to capture sound. But his eyes were a familiar black when they opened, looking down at Lucian.

“See?” he said, reaching up to stroke his hand along the side of Peter’s jaw, “you did it. You did good.”

Peter opened his mouth, as if trying to speak, but managed only a hoarse sort of hiss. Lucian wondered whether he would be able to emit high pitched enough sounds to echolocate. That was a thing bats did, was it not? He certainly couldn’t use those membranes for flying, but he seemed to have noticed them, poking at one with a clawed finger. Lucian stopped him, grabbing his hands in his, feeling the rough sharpness of claws and leathery paw pads against his skin.

“Yes. You do seem to have gained some more… untraditional traits, some vaguely vampiric features, but I promise you, you are the loveliest of wolves. You will be great.”

Peter bent down enough to push his head against Lucian, resting his muzzle on Lucian’s shoulder. His fur was soft against Lucian’s skin.

“Give me a moment, my love, and I’ll join you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added some visual aid, which despite multiple attempts I was not able to draw the way I wanted it. Still. Gets the idea across. Sorry about the size, I don't know how to make images the right format for this webpage.


	27. I Want To Go Home, But I Am Home

The drone of the plane had started to grate on Lucian’s ears. There was a reason he had not made transatlantic flights a habit. Outside it was dark, as they soared above the clouds in the night, but he couldn’t see the moon, despite being closer to it than usual, and it felt wrong.

Peter’s head rested on Lucian’s shoulder. He was wearing one of the complimentary sleep masks, and had his hood pulled down low over his face, extra protection from the bright spots of light where the other passengers had lit their reading lights. His arms and legs were crossed, he was curling in on himself for warmth or safety, or something else he didn’t really need any more.

They never managed to get to the source of synthetic blood, the operation seemingly having been shut down. Lucian wasn’t sure where that left the remaining vampires, how they dealt with it, but perhaps they were doing the same. Raiding blood banks, or feeding on animal blood, like in the old times. It felt empty. It felt pointless, the whole thing. Lucian had made a promise to Peter to help him, but it seemed this whole trip was a waste, all he had accomplished was putting Peter in a situation where he had felt forced to kill, where he had been forced to really see what it was he had become.

Peter muttered something in his sleep, but Lucian couldn’t make it out. Someone behind them kept coughing, and across the aisle someone had turned the music up so loud Lucian could hear the awful tinny sound escaping from their headphones. He looked out of the small window again, but all he could see was the dark, the bright glowing lights along the wing of the plane. No sign of stars.

It was, perhaps, misguided, his desire to save Peter. After all, it was too late for him. Certainly now, with the lycan virus flowing through his veins, there was nothing more to be done, no more hope of giving him a life without the need for blood. It was so important to him, and Lucian could almost understand. The need for blood itself, well, perhaps his upbringing prevented him from seeing why that would be problematic, but he could see why Peter would not want to become the thing that had destroyed his life twice. But Lucian’s relationship with vampires was more complicated. He knew them too well to not know that they were still just people, as bad or good as they might have been had they remained human, or been so in the first place. 

Working so hard, across centuries, to create a hybrid, it felt strange to have finally accomplished it, to have the result of his work resting against him. There wasn’t any elation, as he had expected. Not for his accomplishment, at any rate. It should have changed things, should have been momentous, but it just… wasn’t. All he cared about was keeping Peter safe, trying to keep him happy, and it made him wonder whether he had wasted six centuries of his life on something that didn’t matter. On something Michael and Selene had accomplished a decade ago, if they had survived.

He had talked about it with Peter, tried to make him understand how much of a miracle it was that he had survived the bite, and been able to become something entirely new, merging not only vampire and lycan DNA, but even a completely separate species of vampire. Peter had not been too impressed. He remained solidly convinced that the blood drinking was the thing that mattered, the thing that bothered him, the thing that made him a monster. At least he hadn’t felt the same after changing into his full lycan form. He had seemed to enjoy that, the freedom of it, even if he complained later, when they changed back, that he had turned into a “weird bat wolf thing”. Still, it didn’t seem to be his biggest issue. Lucian had worried it would bother him, that he would feel entirely a monster, irredeemably inhuman, changing his shape so drastically, but perhaps he had gotten used enough to Lucian’s wolf form not to mind.

Peter stirred, shivered, and pulled the mask up to reveal a single, tired eye.

“We close yet?”

“No,” Lucian told him, “five hours to go still.”

Peter groaned, then yawned.

“Sleeping’s s’posed to be more efficient time travel,” he complained.

“Yes, well. You can always try again.”

“Not gonna work now,” Peter told him, and yawned again, “too awake. How about you?”

“I too feel relentlessly conscious,” Lucian said, but didn’t elaborate on his brooding.

There was no need to get into it now, and besides, way too public a place to be talking about almost any aspect of their life without risking exposing themselves. Admittedly the coughing from the row behind them had turned into snoring, but still there were people all around.

Peter leaned into Lucian again for a few minutes, trying to get back to sleep, and then gave up, getting out his laptop and putting on some terrible horror film. He offered Lucian an earbud, but he declined. There was usually quite enough horror in his day to day life, and he seldom felt the need to add more, however artificial. He would have thought Peter would feel the same, but apparently it was something about being able to experience horror in a safe and controlled setting, which he felt helped him cope with the real world horrors that had become an increasingly present part of his life these last few years. Lucian didn’t understand it, but then, there was much of the modern world and humans he didn’t understand.

Lucian watched Peter for a while, his face changing as he reacted to the events on screen, the little twitches of his hands, aborted movements to express something or other. He no longer leaned into Lucian, and much as he had felt it slightly irritating not to be able to move, Lucian missed the warm weight against him now. Which, really, sort of represented their relationship as a whole, he felt. Peter was… challenging, as a person, sometimes. He was self-centred, often thoughtless, didn’t spend a lot of time considering how his actions affected others (at least not in a useful way), and so very vain. He was also understanding, and passionate, and surprisingly brave. And even though they had only known each other a few months Lucian didn’t want to imagine his life without him.

That afternoon they had spent in the woods, fully transformed, had been magical. There had been something about seeing Peter change, seeing his wolf form, that convinced Lucian ever further that he really did love him. And when he himself changed some deep part of his wolf brain kept thinking of him as his mate. Admittedly his slightly weird and bat looking mate, but still. There was something in his scent, in having seen all of his faces, now. That just felt right. It didn’t, however, keep Lucian from occasionally getting frustrated with him. With how childish he could act, sometimes, with how wrapped up in his own tragedy he was, unable to see the bigger picture, unable to realise how lucky he had been.

Later, when Peter’s film finished, he put the computer away, having apparently been sufficiently scared to get sleepy again. He squirmed around in his seat, trying to find the position that would let him lean into Lucian the most comfortably, tugging Lucian’s arm up and around him, resting his head against Lucian’s chest in a way that couldn’t possibly be particularly comfortable for his spine. Still, he had immortal healing powers now. He would be fine.

“Lucian?” he said, slipping the mask back over his eyes, curling his legs up under him in the seat.

“Yes?”

“Love you.”

-

The drive from Los Angeles felt too long, much longer than it actually was, but they were both tired from travel and wanted to get home as fast as possible. Peter, who at least got some sleep on the plane, drove, braving the morning sunlight for the longest time yet. An experiment to see how well it will go, an opportunity for Lucian to doze in the passenger seat. He didn’t even manage to close his eyes, though, still preoccupied with what Peter had told him. He had fallen asleep almost immediately after saying it, not giving Lucian the time to say it back, to have any reaction. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t succeed,” Lucian said instead.

Peter shrugged, eyes on the road, hidden behind large sunglasses. The shades were all down, but he still looked pale and tired in the light of day. Not immune to the sun, evidently, but able to resist it well. 

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, “me too.”

“It’s not so bad, though, as when we left,” Lucian attempted, “you can stand the sun now. You can move normally among humans again, no longer have to hide during the day. Surely that’s an improvement?”

“I guess,” Peter admitted, though Lucian could see his knuckles whiten as he gripped the steering wheel more tightly.

“And we have found sources of blood for you, even if they are not ideal. And they don’t require killing. They don’t require you to do anything more than have an unusual diet, you don’t need to drink human blood at all.”

“I don’t,” Peter agreed, “but it’s better.”

He said this with utter disgust.

“Well, yes. Of course it is. But the vampires of my youth, however monstrous they were in many ways, lived off it perfectly fine, and so you will be able to too. And if not, well, I’m sure we can find some bribable medical professional who can supply you with willingly donated blood. It will be fine, Peter. You will be fine. However hard it is to deal with, I believe in you.”

“Well, there’s your mistake right there,” Peter muttered, “Shouldn’t believe in me. I am unbelievable.”

“I am an eight hundred and six year old lycan,” Lucian said, “I have seen the rise and fall of empires, I have overthrown vampires, I have been killed and survived and lived to see you embody both our species. I’ll believe in anything I want. And I want you. Believe in you. Love you.”

Peter swallowed, looked away, but didn’t argue.

“I don’t…” he began some minutes later, “I don’t mean to be difficult, Lucian. It’s not… I don’t want to argue, and I appreciate what you’re saying, but. You know how, I mean, you can know something intellectually and still not get it emotionally, you know? I know you made it better, made me better, but it still doesn’t _feel_ like it.”

“You need time,” Lucian suggested.

“Yeah. Yeah, probably. I know I get… I get bitter and passive aggressive, maybe just plain aggressive, I don’t know. I don’t react to stuff well, even though I know I should. I can be in the middle of yelling at someone and I know in my head it doesn’t matter, I shouldn’t be doing it, but I still can’t stop, you know? I can’t… I’m not good at… anything.”

“That’s not true,” Lucian argued, “you’re very good in bed. Good at killing vampires, for someone who has been doing so for so short a time. You are, I can only assume from your success, good at pretending to kill vampires with pyrotechnics and really quite terrible music playing.”

“You saw footage of my show?”

“It’s hard to avoid the ads when you’re in Vegas.”

“You should come see it some time.”

Lucian gave him a small smile.

“Perhaps I will. Make sure you keep as many nonsense myths as you can. You do look so very good in that ridiculous costume of yours.”

Peter did grin smugly at that.

“Yeah? Why?”

“Well, for one those are some very tight trousers, and I appreciate the lack of shirt.”

“No, I meant, why keep nonsense myths?”

“Well, we always try to encourage humans to believe the wrong things. Like garlic and crosses. The more wrong conceptions they have of how to kill supernatural beings, the less likely they are to use the actual proper methods.”

“Oh. Yeah, all right, that makes sense. Want me to throw in some fake werewolf myths too?”

“I don’t know if now is the time to start bringing it up, not when you will have to avoid doing shows during the night of the full moon. It may seem a joke to your fans, but there are probably some hunters paying attention to your shows.”

“Shit.”

“Quite. Have you decided what you will tell people if they ask about your bite?”

Peter shrugged.

“Thought I’d just wear long sleeved stuff for a while.”

“Peter.”

“What?”

“I may not have known you long but I know your deep hatred for wearing a shirt at any time.”

Peter was quiet for a moment.

“Right, okay, that’s fair. Well, I thought I’d claim it was a werewolf bite. Lean into the joke of it, wink. More I insist on that the more impossible it will seem.”

“You think that’s wise?”

“No, but I think it will work.”

-

“Will you drop me off at my flat?” Lucian asked as they entered the city proper.

“You’re not coming with me?” Peter asked with poorly disguised disappointment.

“I think not, my dear, sorry. I just need a little time alone. We’ve barely left each other’s side for weeks. I have some research to catch up on, some work to do. But I will be there if you need me, okay? I promise. You’ve got blood still in your freezer, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter confirmed.

He still looked upset, so Lucian placed a hand on his arm, squeezing.

“It’s not because I don’t want to be with you, you know that. I will call you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Peter said again, though he didn’t sound convinced.

“Besides, won’t you have a lot to do, some shows to prepare for and such?”

“I do,” Peter admitted darkly.

“There, you see, you will need some time too. And we’ll see each other soon.”

When Peter dropped him off he stood for a long while, watching as the car disappeared behind a corner, feeling uneasy. Feeling relieved. Feeling bereft. The sun was bright and mercilessly hot above, and he was forced to return inside. His flat was dusty, hot and empty. The bags thudded heavily to the floor as he dropped them. The silence felt oppressive. It felt like relief and loneliness at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> worked out a bunch of really specific dialogue while trying to fall asleep last night and when writing this I of course remembered none of it.


	28. Vegas, Again, Inevitably

Lucian's bed felt cold and empty. Well, not actually cold, this was Vegas and the AC had been off for two weeks, and even in what was becoming late October it was hot, so what he really meant was that it felt emotionally cold. He had thought it would be a relief to have some time on his own, calming, but instead he just felt achingly lonely. When he got the flat cool enough that he could stand to get into his bed, he tossed and turned. It was only around three in the afternoon, but he hadn't slept in over 24 hours and was feeling exhausted. He missed the feel of a body next to his, missed burying his face in Peter's hair, missed the scent of him. It was worrying.

Eventually he unlocked his phone, bringing up a photo he had taken of Peter on their last day in Romania. It was in the light of the sunset, warm rays catching on his hair, his eyes glowing a golden brown, a smile on his face. It was beautiful. He lay staring at it for a long while, his thumb moving in tiny flicks against the screen every minute or so to stop it fading to black, until eventually both it and he fell asleep.

-

When Peter got to his penthouse, he was initially worried to see it looking so clean and tidy. He was used to it, of course, to having someone come in to clean once every few days, but now he couldn't help but worry that his stash of blood had been found, or worse, also thrown out. It had been nearly thirty hours since he had been able to feed, and he thought if he had to see one more human before he got something to drink then they would begin, cartoonishly, to look like giant blood bags. Which technically he supposed they were, but still.

"Hello?"

He felt silly talking to an empty room, but he wanted to make very sure there was no one around before he got out the key to the small, padlocked freezer in which he kept his blood stash. He stashed away his things, got out the key and then. Blood, mug, microwave. He hoped he had remembered to clean out the machine before he left because otherwise the cleaner would have found what looked like a miniature crime scene. He could never remember exactly how long it took to get from frozen to perfect body temperature. Which was a disturbing temperature to need his food at, but this was his life now. Still. At least it was a life and not an unlife, qualified and half real.

Although it had happened a few times already, he never got used to the feeling of his face splitting open. It felt like something out of The Thing, grotesque and inherently wrong, skin stretching and moving. It felt like it should be painful, but it wasn’t. Turning into his lycan shape had been, he supposed, somewhat similar, but not quite the same. It had felt somehow more organic, more natural, but perhaps that was all in his attitude to the different aspects of him. 

The blood felt good. It always did; that was the problem. It nearly made him understand how other let the bloodthirst make them kill. But not enough. Never enough. He would never kill a human again. He wouldn’t let himself. Wouldn’t let Lucian let him, either. Peter hoped they would get back to hunting again, in a little while. Perhaps killing some bad vampires would make he feel like a slightly less bad one himself.

-

The first show he did, the day after they flew back, went fine. He had ordered some custom sclera contacts to look like his normal eyes, for in case they went black, but though he had worn them he was pretty sure it had all been fine. His teeth had stayed normal, after all, so the eyes couldn’t have gone. He would have liked to be able to avoid the contacts, but he wasn’t confident in his ability to control the weird things his face did these days. And having that happen on stage, in front of his co-workers, in front of an audience, some of which was always a dickhead with a camera wanting to put their shitty filmed version up on youtube. Didn’t bear thinking about at all. Still, he thought about it. Thought about it quite a lot. Thought about it incessantly.

 **Peter:** managed 1 show. Killed no one. Well, 1 fake vamp. Hows ur day?

 **Lucian:** Good! I will come and see it one of these days, I promise, my dear.

 **Peter:** wanna get back in2 hunting. 4 real. U seen anything promisign?

 **Lucian:** I might have some leads. I could come over and bring you what I have? Tomorrow perhaps? Though I imagine you have a lot of shows before you have any nights off, yes?

 **Peter:** yeah

 **Lucian:** Your eloquent answers are insightful and promising as ever, my love.

 **Peter:** asshole

 **Peter:** <3

 **Peter:** ye come tomorrow

 **Lucian:** Many small hearts which I am not sure how to create to you as well. 

Peter smiled at his phone, because how could he not, when Lucian was so ridiculous and wonderful.

-

Lucian had dived back into research, poring over reports of suspicious deaths, read buried forum posts of vampire sightings, trying to find something new. It felt right to take a break, to bury himself in work and narrow his focus to just this. A growing pack of empty coffee mugs were gradually conquering his desk, the remnants inside them drying out, growing hard and brittle. The only sound was the hum of the air conditioning, the scratch of his pen on a notebook, the tapping on his keyboard. It was all in medieval Romanian, in case someone should break in, dense enough that he thought it unlikely that putting it through translation software would do much good. It would be a waste, of course, if vampires from home found it, but then, they would be unlikely to be here. No, what he worried about was hunters.

The concept of human monster hunters was not, naturally, a new one. Sadly, though, they had gotten more competent across the centuries, learning to interrogate their victims when they could, and then killing them just as brutally anyway. And now, in the age of the internet, they had gotten better at hunting down information, too. That was a risk, of course, meeting a hunter while out hunting vampires. Granted, that was how he had met Peter, and he was very glad of that, but now they were both potential prey for regular human hunters. Both at risk. Peter potentially less so, having fewer of the weaknesses of either species now. Still.

It was a strange feeling, knowing Peter would become more powerful than him, that he might already be, if far less experienced. It didn't bother Lucian, not exactly, but it felt weird because so much of their relationship so far had involved him feeling protective of Peter, helping him understand what was happening to him. And while that would undoubtedly last a while longer, decades, perhaps even centuries, it would end. He wondered if Peter would agree to bite him. Wondered if that was even something he wanted any more. He had accomplished his goal, after all, his centuries long quest. What was left?

When he got Peter's text messages, brief and incomprehensibly spelled as they were, he redoubled his efforts to find a target. It might do Peter good to do some hunting, to remind him that he was, as he would say, one of the good guys. He needed to be reminded that just because he required blood to live it didn't mean he had to be a monster, and perhaps seeing a real one might do the trick. And they would be, whoever Lucian found. He made sure. Sometimes he would come across traces of a vampire who wasn't doing any harm, who was simply trying to stay as alive as their condition allowed, like Peter. He had even discovered some who appeared to be of the Corvinus strain, escaped from Europe, like him, to hide away in this vast and chaotic country. And they didn't do any harm, so why should he bother them? He kept up with them, though, tracking their movements if he could, if it wasn't too much of an inconvenience. He knew there was one living in New York, a few further up North. A whole little group of them in Mexico City, though they seemed to have intermingled with some of the local species of vampires there.

By the next day he had found a potential target. Some unexplained disappearances in a small town not that far from Vegas, one body found exsanguinated, no arrests made. He looked up the twitter account of the local police department, and the comments all joked about vampires, but he thought it might be the real deal. There were, too, some speculation about chupacabras, but there were no goat victims, and so he felt secure in his theory. He printed out what he had, making sure to circle the important details in red. Peter found it preposterous that he insisted on having things in physical print form, calling him old. Lucian didn't actually have strong feelings about it either way, but he did find Peter's exasperation amusing, and so perhaps played up his age slightly more than was representative.

 **Lucian:** I am leaving now, I will be there in around half an hour

Peter didn't respond, which wasn't unsual. Much as he claimed to be unable to live without a constant internet connection, he wasn't actually that good at looking at his phone, at least not when Lucian expected an answer to a text. 

Lucian got to his building at close to midnight, so Peter would have had time to relax a little after his show. He imagined they must be tiring, though he had little conception of what performing might be like. 

The sight that greeted him when he walked in gave him some clue as to why Peter had not answered his text in a timely fashion. Not only could he see Peter's phone screen down on the floor, but he had also gotten his vampire face out, the full one, all wide mouth and long fangs, and seemed currently to be trying to empty a bottle of beer using only his inhumanly elongated tongue. He froze, looking up at Lucian.

"Kshh kshh-kshh kshah ksh ksshh kshh," he hissed.

"Isn't it? What is it then, Peter?"

He removed his tongue from the bottle, but somehow that made his hissed reply only more unintelligible. He frowned. Lucian approached him, bending down to take his face in his hands, thumbs brushing just under the far too distant corners of his mouth.

"You are utterly incomprehensible, Peter. I love you."

And he kissed him, tasting blood and alcohol on his tongue, fangs clashing with human teeth, that long and oddly rounded muscle pushing into his mouth for a moment before Peter abruptly pulled back. He wrenched his face from Lucian's grasp, turning it downwards and frowning in concentration as he willed it to return to its human shape.

"Don't want you to see me like that," he muttered, face still bowed, though now entirely as it had always been.

"Peter," Lucian murmured, kneeling next to him, taking his hands in his.

"Please don't think I like you any less when you look like that, Peter. All your faces are dear to me."

Peter still wouldn't look at him.

"You keep telling me, but... I don't like when my face does this. Don't want it to be the way you see me, think of me."

Lucian wanted to tell him that all his faces were inherently his, and that he loved him regardless, but that wasn't what Peter wanted to hear, it wasn't the reassurance Lucian meant it to be, and he was learning, however slowly, that he and Peter saw things quite differently when it came to those sorts of things.

"I understand, however much I disagree with you. But I will respect your wishes, of course."

He leaned in to kiss the top of Peter's head.

"Now, do you feel like telling me what you were doing?"

Peter looked even further away, though Lucian suspected this was more out of embarrassment than shame.

"I was... uh. I was experimenting. With drinking. Human beverages."

Lucian looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"By... by licking the beer?"

"...yes."

Lucian tilted his head to the side in confusion, and Peter crossed his arms and scowled.

"Look it makes perfect sense, yeah? If I have human food I puke it up, but I can still taste human food, right, and so, potentially, I can experience the taste of real food and drink again without the puking, which, to be honest, ruins the experience a bit."

"By licking it?"

"By, as you say, licking it."

"And you can't ingest human drinks either without, ah, unfortunate consequences?"

Peter shrugged.

"Not really checked, to be honest."

"Wouldn't you want to know?"

Peter shrugged again, and shifted so he was leaning against the sofa, curling his legs up under himself. Lucian moved with him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know. Yeah. No. Maybe? Because if I check, and I can't, then I will know for sure that I can't, not again not ever. But if I don't, well..."

"Then there's still a possibility," Lucian finished, understanding.

"Yeah."

"Then I get it," he said, letting his hand move to the next shoulder, pulling Peter closer.

"Yeah," Peter said again, and they sat there, for a while, steeping in that knowledge. 

He was holding on, still, to any remnants of humanity that he could. It seemed to Lucian like Peter knew it was senseless, but he did it still. And that was understandable. 

"It's... It's stupid, I know, 's only been two days, less, even, but I've missed you."

Lucian lay his head down to rest against Peter's shoulder.

"It might be. But I've missed you too."


	29. Nightmare Scenario

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a sex scene, but probably not the one you want

Peter was in his penthouse, this time, sitting in one of the nice and extremely stylish but not particularly comfortable chairs, a glass of vodka in his hand, swirling it lazily as he looked out over the city. Some music was playing softly, but he couldn't recognise it. He sipped his drink, savouring the taste of it, the feel of something, at last, not the consistency of blood.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, a kiss to the top of his head and a wave of long dark hair falling across his face. A slender hand reaching down to undo the lose knot in the belt of his robe. The softest brush of fingers across the thin, slinky fabric covering his half hard dick.

Ginger stepped fully into view, undoing the belt of her own robe and letting it slide off her, pooling at her feet. She wore nothing at all underneath it, and Peter shifted enough that he could pull his thong off, then settling back, arms open to encourage her to come closer. She straddled his lap, the soft, smooth skin of her thighs against his hairier ones, that sweet, ever promising spot between her legs hovering tantalisingly an inch or two out of his cock's reach. Her hands had wrapped around his wrists, holding them up and out of the way as she leaned down to kiss him.

She sunk down onto him, that tight wet heat enveloping him, and it felt good, but somehow it was not enough. His hands were at her waist, encouraging her as she rode him, her head thrown back, and rather than her chest Peter found his eyes drawn to her exposed throat. Felt his fangs slide out, as he pulled her close so he could press kisses there, hearing her moan.

Ginger turned to face him, to capture his lips with his, but when she saw his face her eyes widened, her moan turning into a scared whimper, then a scream as he opened his mouth. His hands tightened on her waist and shoulder, his nails growing longer and sharper, digging into her skin. All the while he stayed inside her, thrusting up in sharp little movements, getting closer. With a animalistic snarl and the splitting open of his face he pierced the vulnerable skin of her throat with his fangs, latching onto the wound, sucking that sweet blood from her veins. He came, then, spilling into her even as he drained her, a full circle, as her nails clawed desperately at his skin pained whimpers getting weaker and weaker.

"Fuck," he gasped, sitting up, looking around.

It was dark still, the room around him quiet. There was no trace of his dead girlfriend to be seen, only the solid shape of Lucian, still asleep beside him. He felt his teeth with his tongue, but they were human and flat. He was achingly hard, felt like all it would take for him to come was the lightest of touches. He tried to calm his breathing, closed his eyes. But then, all he saw behind closed lids was Gingers panicked face as he drained her, and horrifyingly the thought, the memory made his cock twitch. Fuck.

He leaned over to press a soft kiss to the back of Lucian's next before easing himself out of the bed, pulling on the thin robe he had worn in his dream. The memory made him flinch. Maybe he should get a new one.

Leaning over the sink in the bathroom he splashed some cold water onto his face, but it did nothing other than make him wet. Without any intent he found that he was leaning into the cabinet, needing any pressure on his cock at all. He flinched away from it, taking a few steps back.

God, he was disgusting. Hadn't he done enough to Ginger? Did he really need to insult her memory with his monstrousness? He wanted to feel more disgusted with himself, but all he felt was hungry and horny. 

He sat down on the cool tile floor, his back against the tub, his face in his hands. Biting into her neck had felt so good, it had felt like killing those humans in Braşov, had been exquisite. Peter wanted to feel nauseous, wanted to be more disgusted with himself than he felt. But no. His stomach was filled with a gnawing thirst, what blood he had filling up his cock.

His head shot up when he heard the bathroom door open. Lucian was silhouetted against the faint light coming in through the windows.

"Are you okay?"

Peter shook his head.

"Can I join you?"

Peter nodded, and Lucian sat down on the floor next to him.

"'M sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Nonsense. I want to be there to help when something is wrong. Or," he said, glancing down to Peter's crotch, "right?"

Peter made a disgusted noise.

"Had a nightmare," he explained. 

Lucian raised his eyebrows.

"Your nightmares must be quite different from mine," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Dreamt I ate my dead girlfriend."

"Ah. I'm sorry, Peter."

A hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting.

"The way she looked at me, just... just terror. Utter fear..."

"I know it's not much comfort, but it was just a dream, Peter. You wouldn't do something like that in real life. Dreams don't mean anything."

Peter laughed bitterly.

"No? Because it sure felt like that time I attacked those two people- killed and drained them."

"Self defence, my love," Lucian murmured, and touched his lips to Peter's cheek in the softest and most gentle of kisses.

"I don't want this. I don't want to have weird sex dreams about killing the people I love. Loved.”

“No,” Lucian said, “you can still love people after they’re gone.”

“Well, yeah, but not my point. I don’t want to… To be like this.”

Lucian moved, sitting down in front of him, taking Peter’s hands in his.

“Look. You can’t decide what you dream about, and you can’t help what your instincts tell you to want, but you can choose what you do about it. You lost control once, but now you know that that is a risk. Now you can prepare for it. You know, make sure to always feed before you plan to be near humans. Make sure that thirst is sated before you get into a situation like that.”

“I suppose, yeah,” Peter agreed.

“Glad I can’t eat you.”

“That does make things easier, yes,” Lucian said, bringing Peter’s hands to his lips and kissing his knuckles.

“What if I lose control again, though? Like the last time? That wasn’t hunger, that was just… Just rage. They- They shot you and there was silver and I just… Lucian I thought you might die.”

“I know, my love, and I’m sorry. I should have told you in greater detail the way silver affects me, or at least that normal silver bullets won’t really kill me. Or at least haven’t yet, even the ones that look like they should.”

Peter shrugged.

“’S good to know, yeah, but I don’t- I don’t know whether that would have made a difference, you know? I hope it would have, but… I don’t know that I would be able to react well to seeing you in danger, seeing you hurt, you know?”

“If it helps, I fell much the same way,” Lucian said.

“Yeah, but you don’t- I mean, like, go feral in the same way.”

Lucian narrowed his eyes.

“You have seen me turn into a wolf, yes?”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean, Lucian. Don’t have this hunger that makes you into a mindless beast.”

Lucian looked away.

“Wait, do you?”

“In the old times, when I was very young,” Lucian began, eyes still fixed on the floor, “they would starve me. They would lock me in a cell and wait for days, giving me nothing, and then shove a few humans in there with me, forcing me to bite them, to try to eat them. Anyone will react like that if pushed far enough.”

“Oh.”

“Lucian, I’m sorry, that’s awful.”

“It was,” Lucian agreed, “there were… quite a lot who did not survive. Some because they would not have survived the bite anyway, but others…”

“You… ate them?”

Lucian winced, and Peter felt immediately guilty for asking. He also felt immensely relieved that by this point his cock had lost interest in the proceedings, because this was a fucked up conversation to have while horny.

“Partially, yes,” Lucian admitted before Peter had the chance to apologise.

Peter didn’t know what to say to that, so he only squeezed Lucian’s hands in a manner he hoped was supportive. He tried to work out how he felt about this. Obviously, Lucian had been forced into it, it wasn’t his fault, and strictly speaking he wasn’t even the same species as a human. But still. That was still cannibalism, right? That was still looking at another human being who was alive and deciding to eat them. Like he himself had done, in that church. Shit. Okay. Deep breath. Another deep breath. Many shallow breaths, rapidly following each other until he was hyperventilating, his hands starting to shake.

“Hey, Peter, it’s all right. It was a long time ago, centuries, I promise I would never do a thing like that now, not voluntarily.”

“No- ‘S not …”

He trailed off, feeling like he could speak, couldn’t form a coherent thought. Some part of his mind was aware he was having a panic attack, but that didn’t make calming down any easier. He was dimly aware of Lucian’s voice, his hands on Peter’s shoulders, but nothing was being processed. All he could think about was losing control, letting the monster inside him loose on innocents. On anyone. No one deserved this kind of death, to be mauled and eaten by some grotesque still moving corpse. He knew how horrifying he look when he lost control, had seen it on Jerry’s face.

“Fuck,” he muttered, wrenching himself loose from Lucian’s grasp, stumbling out of the bathroom, robe fluttering behind him.

Bar. If there was any time to work out whether his body would allow him to drink alcohol then now was the time. And, well, if he couldn’t, then maybe the vomiting would distract him from the panic. He got out a bottle of the 60% vodka, screwed the cork of and poured some directly into his mouth. It wasn’t exactly tasty, but god it felt good. Something, finally, that wasn’t blood. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his robe, took a deep breath. He got out a glass, poured an almost full glass and dropped in two ice cubes. Took a long drink, and brought the bottle with him to one of the chairs overlooking the city. 

Lucian walked in moments later, having taken the time to put on some pyjama bottoms. They were Peter’s, and didn’t fit quite right, but even with his brain like this Peter could see it was a pretty good look. He took another deep drink, appreciating the fact that he didn’t feel nauseous yet. Which, to be fair, it had taken a while with the food, too. Well, if he was doomed he would at least enjoy this while he could. 

Lucian slid into the chair next to Peter, and accepted the bottle Peter wordlessly handed him, taking a deep drink before setting it on the small table between them. He looked at Peter with a silent question, but Peter shook his head. Not yet.

It took half an hour and half the bottle, but Peter eventually began to feel calm again as the first hints of pink began to show over the horizon. He had managed to keep the vodka down so far, which was excellent use, but he didn’t feel like it had its usual effect on him. Still, the elation of being able to consume it, and, so, therefore, other liquids made a pretty sizeable dent in his panic. So did Lucian, who had shoved away the table between them, moving his chair so it was flush with Peter’s and leaned close enough to be touching him at all times. It was a little much, but still comforting, and Peter appreciated the gesture.

Peter yawned. That was a good sign. Being calm enough to be sleepy usually was.

“Want to go back to bed?” he asked, “if we’re checking out that vampire report after my show tonight we ought to get some sleep, yeah?”

“Yes,” Lucian agreed, “and better now before it gets too light to fall back asleep.”

When they settled back in the bed Peter began to dread sleep again, worrying that his dream would return. He rested his head on Lucian’s chest, an arm thrown over his middle, feeling a hand stroking over his back, another in his hair. The steady rhythm of Lucian’s heart was soothing, the calm murmurs of Lucian’s in a language Peter could not understand. He closed his eyes, and the image of Ginger’s face contorted in horror flashed briefly before his mind, but he tried very hard to concentrate on Lucian’s face. On picturing the angles of it, the way his hair fell when it had half escaped its tie, the elegant angle of his nose, how obscenely pretty his mouth was, the way his face crinkled up when he smiled. How kind his eyes were, and equally how he could see the righteous fury in them when it was warranted.

“Sleep well, draga mea, and I will keep the nightmares from finding you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> draga mea, again, is something like my dear or my darling in Romanian. Hopefully. As far as google translate and a two week streak of duolingoing romanian can tell me.


	30. Bloodlust and Other Lusts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian learns about modern communication and Peter goes for his first hunt as a hybrid.

“Why have you sent me this small picture of an aubergine?” 

Peter groaned. They were getting ready for their hunt, and apparently Lucian had failed to open the texts Peter had sent him from his dressing room until now.

“It’s sexting, Lucian.”

Lucian frowned, but put his phone down and continued to stuff newly sharpened stakes into a bag that already had Peter’s standard supply of garlic, crosses and easily breakable vials of holy water.

“How? It is a picture of a vegetable. How is that sexy?”

Peter finished buckling his incredibly impractical but very cool looking ammo harness onto himself, then look up at him.

“The eggplant looks like a penis, Lucian.”

Lucian picked the phone up and squinted at the image once more.

“Not really. Not any I’ve seen, at the very least. If you have to make the small vegetable pictures phallic, then surely the thing that’s either a zucchini or a cucumber would be more fitting, shape wise? Or perhaps the banana?”

“I don’t know, Lucian, okay? I didn’t exactly get a vote, did I?”

“Well, who decided it then?”

Peter shrugged helplessly, briefly questioning his choice in romantic partners.

“General consensus?”

Lucian looked like he had follow up questions, so Peter decisively closed his bag and announced that they were leaving, picking his up and striding towards the elevator with purpose.

-

They sat in Peter’s car, watching the building where Lucian had found evidence of vampires lurking. It was dark, around four in the morning, their preparation having taken more time than planned, as Peter had announced his need to shower after his show, which had lead to shower sex, and then up-against-the-bathroom-wall sex and bedroom sex before they remembered what it was they were planning on doing. Other than, of course, each other. Peter was sipping a just spectacularly gigantic cup of some sugary iced coffee monstrosity, making full use of his newly discovered ability to not immediately throw up non-blood liquids. To his great despair he had realised that he was unable to get any effect out of either caffeine or alcohol, but at least it tasted good, and if his body couldn’t process it then it could, per definition, not be bad for him. At least this was what he had announced to Lucian when he returned to the car from the all night café.

Lucian worried about this hunt, Peter’s first in at least two months, his first as anything other than 90% human. Worried that a fight might again awaken something in Peter that he wouldn’t be happy about, but at the same time, it must surely be better to let out the monster inside on a murderous vampire rather than a human. And Lucian felt very sure this vampire was murderous, had seen too many reports on exsanguinated bodies not to. 

“Okay,” he said, “but what about the peach? I don’t understand the peach.”

“Christ, Lucian, will you let this go?”

Lucian crossed his arms, resisting the urge to smile.

“You’re the one who started sending me these texts, Peter, you can’t expect me to respond in kind or understand if you don’t explain them to me.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but relented.

“Fine. It’s a butt, Lucian.”

Lucian brought the emoji keyboard on his phone back up and squinted at the very small illustrated fruit. He could sort of see this one, he supposed.

“What about the water droplets?”

Peter made a loud, frustrated and completely inarticulate noise.

-

They stalked through the dark and seemingly abandoned building, which had at one point decades ago, they had theorised, been a petrol station, but which currently housed primarily dust and broken glass. They had checked the main and back rooms, and were currently looking for the entrance to the cellar they suspected of lurking beneath the filthy floor. Lucian had whispered that he could smell traces of blood from below, but Peter’s nose was not yet experienced enough to make it out. So far he had mainly tried to block out the never ending barrage of olfactory input, not being used to such a rich experience of that particular sense. It wasn’t useful, but it kept him from spending every second outside his penthouse trying to work out what each new scent was. 

Lucian kicked aside a dusty rubber mat on the floor, revealing a trapdoor. It looked crisper than the rest of the back room, and Peter wondered whether it had been a custom upgrade by the vampire. Quite a good one, then, he thought. The place was along a smaller road, at least a five minute walk from any other building, with boarded up windows and accumulated piles of garbage outside. It seemed the kind of abandoned place that became a sort of free for all, with a pile of empty beer cans and cigarette butts where teenagers had hung out on a low roof, accessed by some boxes piled up by the wall. Along another wall were filthy and broken down appliances, as well as other assorted things that were too big to throw away easily. It seemed a perfect spot to hide, if one could find a below ground spot in which to hide one’s lair. 

“You think this is it?” he whispered, extracting a stake from his bag as quietly as he possibly could. 

Lucian nodded, slipping a knife between the edges and lifting the door up. Not putting in some way to lock it seemed like a mistake to Peter, but then he supposed this wasn’t something anyone would expect to find if they weren’t looking for it. Slowly, carefully and quietly Lucian eased the door opening, gesturing for Peter to go first. He did so, climbing down a surprisingly shiny looking ladder which confirmed his suspicion that this layout was a new upgrade by the vampire. 

The room they entered was some sort of storage room, with a couple of barrels in one corner and two large chest freezers along one wall. The air stank of death. This space did look like it had been here a long time, and there was a door covered by a thick chain which presumably lead to an original and more obvious entrance. There was also a large fridge in one corner, around which was wrapped a similar chain, glinting in the light from Peter’s phone. Peter gestured vaguely at it, his motions meant to ask whether they should investigate. Lucian held up a hand for a moment, and Peter could swear he saw his ears twitch, dog like, as he listened. Then a nod.

Upon closer inspection it turned out the chains were not locked, simply tied and hooked around themselves, as if their intention was keeping something in, rather than out. Which, sickeningly, turned out to be the case when they managed to slowly and quietly remove them, opening the door to reveal the corpse of a young girl, a plethora of bite marks around her throat. Like someone had kept her there. Peter swore under his breath, nausea rising. This was the kind of thing he might do if he lost control. He swallowed hard, trying not to breathe in the sickening scent of rot.

Opening the freezers revealed that they too had been used to store corpses. Almost all of them were young, their skin marred by pinpricks and various scars in addition to where the vampire’s fangs had chewed them up. Peter felt rage and desperation and disgust and self hatred well up in him, filling him to the brim and overflowing, felt like he was descending into another panic attack and fuck, it had been less than 24 hours since the last one, he couldn’t do this, not now. 

He turned away, looking down into Lucian’s eyes, pleading. There was understanding there, and love, and then Lucian was folding Peter into a hug, wrapping arms around him.

“I don’t think they are here,” he whispered, “it’s all right.”

Peter remained in his lover’s arms for a few moments before steeling himself, determined to see this through, even if they might not find the vampire. At the very least, he thought, they might be able to lay some sort of trap, or remove the victims, allowing their loved ones to learn of their fates. 

Another door, unchained, led out of the room, down a narrow corridor that looked like it was meant for some sort of utility purpose, but was just dark and filthy and smelled even more strongly of rot and decay. They followed it for a few metres, around a corner, and through another door which opened up into what was clearly the proper lair of the creature they were hunting. A filthy looking mattress lay on the floor, and a young man, hardly more than a teenager, was chained to one wall. He was clearly alive, but not conscious, a ragged open wound in the crook of his neck, his clothes filthy with blood and piss. Next to him on the floor was another man of the same age, but this one had clearly died days earlier.

The room was illuminated by a battery powered lantern, and that was weird, wasn’t it? Leaving it on before one left? Unless-

A snarl sounded from behind them, and that was all Peter had time to perceive before he was knocked to the ground. There was a weight on top of him, clawed hands digging into his shoulder and a foul stench. The breath of someone feeding on corpses, or at least near them. He breathed in, channelling the darkness inside him, letting his eyes darken and his fangs slide out, faintly aware of the sound of Lucian’s answering snarl, movement above him, confused and quick.

With a hissing noise he didn’t even realise he was capable of making, Peter twisted, getting out from under the vampire, which was locked in struggle with Lucian. With claws he hadn’t felt himself grow he tore into the dead flesh of the vampire, pulling him away and shoving it into the wall. 

The thing about vampires was that a lot of the time, they looked an awful lot like humans. Like this one, a man that might be in his early twenties at most, the same age as its victims when he was turned, with a soft face contorted in a snarl. It was not the same species as Peter, as it had the more classic two fangs, rather than the rows of needles. Its eyes actually widened as Peter’s face split open, revealing more pointed fangs than any human jaw should be able to fit. Peter pounced.

An inhuman sound escaped his throat as he pressed his clawed hands into the soft, cold flesh of the vampire’s throat.

“Stake,” Lucian yelled, and Peter grabbed one from his belt.

He struggled for a few moments with the vampire, it grabbing his wrists, trying to keep him off, but with a growl that betrayed the more lycan side of Peter he wrenched it away. The stake plunged into the vampire’s chest and then- and then stopped. Fuck. The vampire let out a hoarse laugh, then redoubled its efforts, but Peter managed to press the stake deep into its throat, which shut it up. It clawed at the wound, eyes wide in panic, giving Peter room to plunge the stake deep in its heart.

This vampire, Buffy-style, exploded in a puff of dust, leaving Peter coughing. He shifted, backing out of the pile of ex-vampire, his gaze landing on the victim hanging unconscious from the wall. The scent of live blood filled his nostrils, so alive, so close. It was already open, a shame to waste it, the blood crusting over open wounds in that vulnerable neck… Peter crept closer, closing in on the source until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around, ready to defend himself, but it was Lucian. 

“It’s all right Peter, it’s over now. You did it, you defeated the vampire.”

He crouched down in front of Peter, taking his hand in his, those soft hazel eyes looking into Peter’s black voids. Another hand was on Peter’s face, soft warm fingers stroking over the split open skin, soothing, encouraging it to knit back together into Peter’s human face, and perhaps it was because he was the one who turned him, but it worked. 

“Fuck,” Peter muttered as soon as his constellation of fangs disappeared enough to let him.

He had nearly attacked this poor kid, nearly tried to eat him. If Lucian hadn’t been there, then, well. Then he probably would have. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Shit.

“We can deal with what’s down here later,” Lucian told him, his voice calm and soft and reassuring, “but first let’s find a hospital to drop this human off at, yes?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, more on reflex than anything else.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”


	31. Affirmations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on origins

Peter sat quietly in the car, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. They had dropped the victim off at the hospital, then gone back and cleaned up any traces of themselves at the crime scene. Someone would find it, would be able to tell any loved ones the victims might have of their deaths, but they themselves couldn’t take that risk. It bothered Peter, Lucian could tell, even though he hadn’t said anything. Because he hadn’t said anything. Secrecy was not in his nature.

It was dawn, now, the sky just starting to lighten, the pattern of orangey yellow cast by the street lights dimming, losing contrast. Peter had turned the radio on, just for some noise, he had said, and some terrible pop music was playing, interrupted every five minutes or so by obnoxious advertisements. Lucian was attempting to tune it out, and he suspected Peter was using it to tune out everything else.

Back in that dark, foul smelling room Peter had gotten close to attacking the victim, there was no denying that, even for Lucian. But he had stopped. He had been easily pulled out of it, And where Peter focused on his having needed to be pulled out of it, Lucian focused on how quickly and easily he was. Despite what Peter may choose to think of him, bloodlust and rage were hardly strange or new concepts to Lucian. He knew the satisfaction and elation of tearing out a throat with his fangs, the glorious taste of blood.

Lucian could not help but be excited for, and look forward to, the day when Peter accepted what he was, what he now must do to survive. It would be long, he knew, and he didn’t relish the thought of that, but as someone who struggled with his identity for two centuries he couldn’t exactly complain. He could only understand, be there, and try to help Peter through it. However long it took.

When they got back to the penthouse, Peter started drinking. It had become all to clear that he was no longer affected by alcohol, but he still seemed keen on it as a coping mechanism. Lucian had speculated that he might perhaps be able to feel some of the intoxication should he consume the blood of someone with a high blood alcohol content, but he had not aired this possibility for Peter. It would not, he thought, be wise. Still he felt bad for Peter as he watched him prepare a bloody mary that substituted blood for tomato juice.

"I don't understand," Peter announced a few blood-based cocktails later. 

He had made Lucian some too, and he did have to agree they were, in fact, pretty good. The pigs blood added an even further savoury edge, which worked quite well.

"Anything I can help with?" Lucian asked.

He turned his head slightly too fast, and felt just the faintest blurring of edges that mild intoxication brought. Peter frowned, as if considering it.

"I don't understand why this has happened," Peter elaborated, gesturing vaguely at the room.

"The decor? Yes, I've wondered that also," Lucian said, squinting at the black spooky tree branches painted on one wall.

"What? No, fuck off, Lucian, the room's brilliant. Found a goth interior designer who did it for me, and let me tell you, that was a fucking ordeal. Not too many of those out there."

"I can imagine," Lucian said tactfully.

"Cost a bloody fortune, too."

Lucian simply raised his eyebrows, attempting to look impressed. Peter's grimace made him suspect he hadn't quite pulled it off. 

"What, then?" he asked when Peter failed to tell him more of his design woes, instead going to the bar to make them more drinks.

Peter didn't reply at once, focusing instead on some new terrible concoction which mixed the blood with some sort of green liquor, rendering the result a very unappetizing thick brown liquid. He garnished each with a lime wedge, which Lucian personally thought seemed a terrible idea, but he was not consulted, apparently, on their drink choices. 

"I don't understand why all of this, you know, why it happened."

Lucian accepted the drink, which he too wondered why had happened, but he suspected it wasn't what Peter meant. He tried it, anyway. Sweet and savoury in the exactly wrong way, and the lime somehow made it worse. He tried not to let his distaste show. Perhaps it got better with time.

Peter let himself fall back onto the sofa, leaning into Lucian, splashing only a little of the disgusting alleged drink onto the no doubt violently expensive fabric.

"This, you know, this whole vampire thing."

Ah.

"Ah," Lucian said.

"Because," Peter said, gesturing with the drink, which seemed a poor decision to be making,"because I was bitten, sure, bitten just a whole bunch, but I was cured! I was cured and Jerry was staked with the blessed saint some old dude stake and he burned in the sun, I saw him turn to a pile of dust, just like that guy today! It's not fair."

Lucian sat his barely touched drink on the coffee table, watching a fruit fly attempt to land in it and then immediately change its microscopic mind.

"It isn't," he agreed.

He touched Peter's arm gently, fingers stroking over slightly above room temperature skin. 

"And it's not like I'm the only one, either! If anything, this should be happening more to the others, I was bitten last, just minutes before the fucker went up in flames."

"Is it?" Lucian asked.

"Is what?"

"Is it happening to Jerry's other victims? The living ones, I mean? Well, possibly un-living, I suppose. Undying."

The alcohol had weakened his sensibleness enough that he tried the horrible drink again. It was marginally less terrible.

"Uh," Peter said.

"You know, never thought to check. Don't know who most of them were. Are. Whatever."

"You want to?"

Peter shrugged, shuffling further down into a truly impressively slouched position and leaning into Lucian's chest.

"Don't know," he admitted.

"Because, right, because if they have been turned, then what do I do? Cause they've not had a hot older werewolf to- lycan, yeah, sorry, I know, they've not had a hot older lycan to help them figure shit out, right? What do I do if they've killed people? Cause some of them I've seen, I've met. Do I give them a chance? Teach them a better way? Like a- a fucking vegan vampire guru?"

"Do you consider animals to be vegetables?" Asked Lucian, who had finished the very bad drink quite without noticing.

Against all better judgement he found himself craving another.

Peter turned to look at him with a frown. 

"You know what I mean, you dumb wolf."

Lucian thought he ought to be insulted, but found he didn't care, as he had gotten distracted by Peter's face being a good face, the slight smear of blood over his cheekbone which he seemed not to have noticed a nice touch.

"Point is," Peter continued, elbowing Lucian in the stomach in the process of another expressive gesture, "that I killed two people too, so it's not like I've got any moral high ground but like. How many chances do I give them? What if they've been eating people he whole time? How many dead humans must they have racked up before they don't get a chance to change their ways? If they've turned faster they might be mass murderers by now, you know?"

Lucian nodded; he did know. He carefully extracted Peter's glass from his hand, who did not seem to notice.

"And do I kill them? How much of a hypocrite does that make me? If I didn't know what was happening to me, how much would I be to blame? If I snapped and killed someone?"

Lucian made a vague noise of agreement around a mouthful of excruciatingly bad and oddly satisfying cocktail.

"And if I kill them, I mean. I know, now. I know how hard it is to resist, but I also know that if you're careful you can avoid doing murders, right?”

“Right,” said Lucian, who wasn’t entirely sure he was following Peter’s convoluted route through logic and guilt.

He had nearly finished Peter’s drink too, now. Leaning down he kissed the top of Peter’s head, then leaned against it for a moment.

“So what do I do? What do I do if I find out? I’ll have to do _something_ about it, will have to decide whether to kill or help them, and I don’t… I don’t want the responsibility of that.”

Lucian drained the rest of his drink and tried to set it on the table, but found he hadn’t the reach to do so without dislodging Peter, and he was nice and warm against him, so that seemed like a bad choice. He sat it very carefully on the sofa so it leaned against the back of it, hopefully far from tipping over. Then he considered Peter’s reasoning.

“Yes,” he said, “but if you know of the potential of it, aren’t you just as guilty as if you know about it and do nothing? You’re just… Just shutting your ears and covering your eyes with your hands and not… Not actually taking any responsibility. And you don’t have to, but by your own logic, choosing not to find out is the same as ignoring the problem and just hoping it will go away.”

“Ah shit, you’re right,” Peter muttered. 

“Why’d you have to be all reasonable?”

“Well, you weren’t and no one else was going to,” Lucian said, earning a poorly aimed and half hearted smack to his arm.

“Fuck. But yeah, I guess you’ve got a point. Don’t really know that I know how to find out, though. Last time I texted Charlie, before all… All of this started, and I didn’t get any reply, so I thought maybe he’d changed his number or something. Is that a thing kids have started doing now? I don’t… I don’t understand kids any more, I think.”

“You’re asking the eight hundred and seven year old?”

“Right, yeah, okay, fair,” Peter admitted, running his hand through his hair.

“But still. Don’t know how to track them down.”

“Well,” said Lucian, reasonably, he thought, “we have tracked down a lot of other vampires; surely we can find these. We have a starting place, for one. Here. Right? This was also in Vegas?”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, tugging Lucian’s arm up and around so his hand ended up resting against Peter’s chest.

“So. From what you’ve told me several of the other victims attended the same school as Charlie, yes? That’s a good starting point. They will have had families. If they have turned those might have been their first victims. That’s more of a head start than we have had with others. We can find out, I’m sure, what their names are. Do you think you would recognise them?”

“Maybe,” Peter said.

He slouched even further down, so he was, essentially, laying in Lucian’s lap. His skin was flushed with colour, warm, his pulse faster, almost human, the life returned almost entirely to him from the blood he had drunk. Lucian came, once again, to the conclusion that he loved him. It was a nice feeling, one he for so long had been so sure he would never experience again. Once again he found himself looking at Peter and wondering whether Sonja would approve. Wondering whether she would want him to move on, or forever mourn her. Which of course, he still did. Always would. But one could, he reasoned, multitask.  
“I think that’s gonna be my plan, yeah,” announced Peter, who had evidently continued talking while Lucian zoned out.

“Yes,” said Lucian, “good.”

“Were you even paying attention?” Peter demanded, but with little heat.

“Always,” Lucian promised.

Peter looked up at him.

“...Not entirely,” he admitted.

Peter sighed.

“But I trust in your ability to make good plans. Follow through on them, even.”

“Yeah?”

“I hope I’ve made it clear by now, Peter, that I trust you, believe in you.”

Peter looked away, but reached up to take one of Lucian’s hands in both of his.

“You have,” he murmured, “’s just hard to believe you would.”

Lucian knew better than to argue by now. That would just drive Peter to defend his position, focusing on his self hatred, and lately he really didn’t need any more reason to do so. Instead he squeezed his hand.

“Well, I do. And I love you.”

“A terrible choice,” Peter said, but now his tone was closer to joking.

“You too.”


	32. A Triumphant Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More is promised than is delivered

Peter blinked open tired eyes some time around two in the afternoon. The blackout curtains had been forgotten the previous night, and so the sun shone through the windows, dust particles dancing in the light. A heavy weight rested on Peter's chest. He yawned.

"Morning," he told the very large wolf laying partially on top of him.

Large pitch black eyes opened a sliver, looking up at him. Lucian's massive wolfish head rested on Peter's chest, a paw on his hip. It was a comforting weight, pressing him towards sleep, the warmth welcome in the cool provided by a slightly too efficient air condition. Last night Lucian had asked him whether he was okay with him sleeping in wolf form, and Peter thought it the faintest bit worrying that he still felt he had to ask. Especially now that that option was on the table for Peter too. Granted, sharing your bed with a very large wolf was different from sharing it with a normal sized man shaped being, but still he hoped that his acceptance was implied, a given.

"Love you," he informed his very large and wolf shaped boyfriend.

Lucian stretched forward just enough that he could lick Peter's neck.

"Yeah," he told him, "I know."

Lucian, satisfied with this, closed his eyes again. Peter pet his head, running fingers through thick, coarse fur and over rough and leathery skin. It had taken a little getting used to, but he had grown to love this larger and wolfier of Lucian's faces. The heavy brow, the thick many of fur, the just ludicrously large and sharp fangs. He found himself wishing, sometimes, that his wolfish face could look like this too. That he could be a normal lycan, if not a human.

The first, and so far only, time Peter had changed, it had been strenuous, not quite painful but exceptionally uncomfortable. Nerves he did not know he had reporting in to inform his brain that this was wrong, his very skeleton shifting and changing size. Perhaps the worst part had been his skull changing, pushing out until it more fully entered his field of vision. And so he hadn't tried again, was still waiting for his first full moon before doing anything more. He hadn't seen himself like it, but he had made Lucian tell him what he looked like, and knowing that this fucking vampire curse ruined even his ability to turn into a werewolf properly was disappointing.

Lucian, who seemed to have noticed Peter's thought pattern, put a paw on his hand, curling long and sharp claws around his fingers. 

"You're right," Peter told him, running the tip of a finger over the sharp point of a claw.

Lucian huffed, and shifted slightly, the corners of his jaw bone digging into Peter's stomach just a little. He knew Lucian worried about him, worried about his mental health, how he was dealing with all of this, and he really couldn't blame him. He worried about it himself, sometimes. Extracting his arm from beneath Lucian's, he lifted it up so the light reflected dully off the bright white scar from Lucian's bite, almost covering the scattering of thin white lines of much, much older scar tissue. The last therapist he had had he had quit going to, finding she was just a little too right about things, a little too clever and intuitive, sensing there was something he wasn't telling her about his main childhood trauma. Which was, of course, true. But unless he could find a therapist who were themselves a part of the supernatural community, he rather doubted that he could find anyone who could be helpful to him now.

At some point Peter must have dozed off again, because the next time he opened his eyes it was to find Lucian had returned to his human shape, though he had not moved at all. It must have been rather a deep doze, Peter thought, to not have noticed that change happen half way on top of him. Sleep of the undead, he supposed.

"Morning," he murmured again, though tapping his phone revealed it to be four in the afternoon. 

Just a few hours until he had to get ready for his show. And then, later, another hunt. It had been almost a week since the last one, and Peter had insisted he was ready for another. They had done some research, after Peter had once again failed to get hold of Charley, both by phone and mail. He hadn't remembered his last name, nor Amy's, nor did he have her contact information, so it had not been so easy as originally planned, but he had managed to drive around enough depressing neighbourhoods in the right area until he recognised the house in which they had killed Jerry. From there, they had worked out which was the closest high school, and further they had been able to find various facebook groups for the different classes, and Peter had been able to recognise a few faces, even without fangs. Lucian, it turned out, was very good at finding people online, finding ways to get around security. For someone who was from the middle ages and also didn't know how emojis worked he was surprisingly tech savvy.

"Good morning," Lucian said back, several minutes later, with a yawn. 

They had both sort of accidentally wound up with a half nocturnal half diurnal sleep schedule, usually going to bed around dawn and waking up in the mid afternoon. It suited Peter perfectly, and was what he had been doing most of his life anyway, when left to his own devices. That was the advantage of working evenings.

Lucian stretched, rolling off Peter with a groan. 

"How long till you have your show?" 

"Couple hours still," Peter promised, "lots of time for chilling a bit first."

"Mm," Lucian said, "good."

He leaned closer, cradling Peter's face in his hand and kissing him softly. Peter sunk his fingers into Lucian's hair, tugging gently, his tongue prodding at Lucian's lips. 

"I think," Peter said, pulling back just a little, "that you owe me something in return for getting all this fur on my bed."

"Oh?" Lucian asked, even as he began to pepper kisses down Peter's chest, moving slowly downwards. 

"Yeah. This is gonna be ten minutes with a lint roller, at least."

"That is," Lucian said, planting kisses down Peter's lower belly, "a little inconsiderate of me. However can I make it up to you?"

"Oh," Peter said, grinning and sinking his fingers into Lucian's hair, "I'm sure we can think of something."

-

They were stalking through the dark room in the house where they thought they might find the first of the vampires they were looking for. It was in the same area as Peter's and Jerry's houses, a few streets away, Peter thought, and the only one in which there had been no lights on. The stench of death was thick here, clinging to the walls, the cloying scent of rot sticking to everything. Peter had some good ideas for him and Lucian involving a bathtub and some sparkly bath bombs for when they finished up here. Sometimes this new supernaturally enhanced sense of smell was a curse.

The curtains were drawn in all the rooms, tall dressers and bookcases shoved in front of windows in some, blocking out the sun. This was definitely a vampire nest. 

In the attic they had found the drained and rotting bodies of three humans, a middle aged man and woman and what looked to be a ten year old girl, hidden under a rug, as if the bulky forms and stench didn't give them away. The many photographs scattered around the house identified them as the family of the young man they were looking for. Peter had already forgotten his name. 

They made their way down to the basement last, to where they suspected the vampire yet lurked. The stairs groaned and creaked beneath their feet, each sound followed by Peter's whispered curses. If it was down there the vampire would surely hear them coming.

The first room of the basement was tiny and dark and contained a single lightbulb and a single door. Peter leaned against it, and could pick up the faint sound of someone breathing, the hint of a heart beat.

"There's a victim in there," he mouthed silently at Lucian, who nodded, and motioned to go ahead. 

There were no other sounds, which Peter thought might mean that the vampire had left, but might also indicate that this was a trap. But there were two of them and probably just one of it.

Slowly, quietly he pushed the door open, wincing as it creaked loudly. Nothing happened, but he could smell the victim, and dust. Nothing happened, no attack came, so, stake in one hand, claws and fangs sliding out, ready for a fight, he stepped into the room, and was almost immediately blinded by a light.

The supernatural dark vision of vampires and lycans and everything in between (which currently was just Peter) might be excellent, but faced with an industrial torch shining directly into their eyes after almost total darkness overwhelmed their senses anyway. Peter raised the hand holding the stake to shade his eyes, and, as the beam of light was lowered slightly, his eyes widened.

"Charley?"


	33. Reunion

"Charley?"

"Peter. I'm sorry to see I was right. And I'm sorry to have to do this, but..."

The kid lifted up some contraption, aiming it at Peter. It did not look like a gun, and, with a glance at the suspiciously human shaped pile of dust on the floor, Peter had a hunch what it might be. 

"Look, Charley, hey, we can talk about this, can't we? You don't have to-"

Peter felt Lucian grab his arm, tugging him backwards, out of harms way, but Peter resisted. Charley pressed a button, and searingly bright purple tinged light bathed Peter and Lucian. Peter hissed, though mainly from the discomfort in his eyes, hidden pupils still having to adjust.

The silence was uncomfortable as Charley banged on the lamp with his hand, looking up at Peter with wide fearful eyes.

"I don't-"

"You fucking arsehole! You little shit, you trying to kill me?"

Peter bared his fangs at the kid, a clear display of threat slightly hindered by Lucian's protective arm on his shoulder, the frustration he could feel radiating off him.

"Kidding," he said when the terror on Charley's face didn't dissipate, and he could see his hand moving towards a hidden stake.

He wasn't sure whether stakes could kill him, but he very much didn't want to take the chance. Not that the boy stood a chance against him and Lucian. Still, though.

"What's happening, Charley, why are you trying to kill me?"

"You're a vampire," Charley accused.

Peter frowned, concentrating on letting his less human features slip away. He look up again with normal brown eyes.

"Bit racist," he told him, trying to climb up to some sort of moral high ground, "or, well, speciecist, I guess."

"You're an undead murderer, and the Peter I knew would want me to put him down if he got turned, so," he said, voice full of determination, stake brandished.

"Well, that was 2011 me. 2013 me is more open minded and less suicidally inclined."

"If you kill Peter, and I know he wouldn't approve, but I _will_ tear your throat out," Lucian told the kid, and, okay, they would have a discussion about that later, but fine.

"He's a bit protective," Peter said, "but I'm pretty sure he's not bluffing. And he can, you know."

Lucian growled, low and threatening, and much as the murder threats were suboptimal for what he was trying to say to Charley, the protective wolf thing sent a thrill through Peter. Another thing to bring up later, possibly in bed.

"Right, okay, Charley, calm down, yeah? We can talk about this? Give me a chance to explain, to hear what you have to say, and then if you still want to, I promise you, you can try to kill me. Deal?"

"Why would I trust you not to bite me and drink my blood?" Charley demanded.

"I just ate before we left home. Animal blood, no reason to worry. No humans died for my breakfast. Cruelty free. Well, not for the pig, I suppose, but the meat industry and all its ethical issues is a different question." 

The kid looked both confused and annoyed, but at least significantly less murderous. Good. Excellent. 

"Fine," he said at last, retreating to the back of the room, and making a protective half circle around himself with crucifixes, garlic and sprinkled holy water.

Peter chose not to bother telling him he was immune to religion. Whatever made him feel safe. In turn he very slowly and deliberately disarmed, laying the stakes and knives in a pile by the door. Lucian followed suit, with the exception of the spring blade attached to his arm. It wasn't as though they needed weapons to defeat a single human 19 year old.

Peter and Lucian sat down, backs against the opposite wall, a solid three or four metres between them. The movement had shuffled around some of the dust and ashes of the dead vampire. It smelled burnt, but was preferable to the stench of corpses still drifting down from the attic.

"Right," said Peter, "okay, I'll go first, then?"

Charley nodded, eyes still wide but determined, knuckles going white around the stake he held. 

"Okay. Good, yeah. So, first of, Charley, this is Lucian. He's my boyfriend, and also not entirely human."

"Hello," Lucian said, trying for pleasant but there was still an undertone of the threat of dismemberment. 

Charley didn't respond. Rude. But he also did seem a little bit frozen in terror.

"Okay, then. That out of the way, let's talk about what's going on. So. Yes. I'm a vampire." 

Lucian looked at him, and Peter gave the tiniest shake of his head, by which he intended to communicate that hey lets not bring lycans into this yet. He hoped he understood.

"And given you're here, having killed this specific vampire, I'm gonna guess you know why. Or, well, not why, but sort of what the situation is. All of us who got bitten by Jerry or his temporary vamps, slowly turning. Am I right? By the way, how's Amy?"

"Don't fucking talk about her," Charley nearly shouted. 

"So... Staked her? Sorry, sorry, calm down, kid. Anyway, yeah. Found myself feeling slowly more vampiric, but was lucky enough that I met this very sweet man, who was able to help me figure out what I was going through. So I ha-"

Brief images of the two men he had killed and drained in that church in Braşov flashed through his mind.

"I don't eat people," he corrected himself, feeling Lucian's hand on his thigh, warm amd calming and supportive. 

"I mostly drink animal blood, all right? Sometimes human, but that's from blood banks and stuff. Willingly given."

Charley scoffed.

"It's given to people who need it, not monsters."

"Hey," Peter argued, "I'm a person and I need it. Need it to live. Just through a slightly different mechanism than your traditional human. You don't get to donate to someone and then get pissy about who gets helped."

Charley rolled his eyes, and that was good. Stay with annoyance, stay with presenting himself as maybe a slightly ridiculous regular person. Get him to understand.

"But the point is, right, Jerry's dead. No one's controlling us any more. We're just... undead. And need blood to stay that way. We're still people. Just... just a bit different, yeah?"

"Mark ate his family," Charley pointed out, "he killed his mom and his dad and his baby sister, he ate them."

Mark, Peter assumed, must be what the pile of dust and ashes had been called.

"All right, look, yes. If you don't know what's happening to you, it's difficult to deal with. The hunger, it gets intense, and if you can't sate it with something else, then a human is gonna be tempting. But look. Starving humans eat other humans, right, if the circumstances get bad enough. The people in the mountains with the plane crash, right? Those fucking old time racists who were bad at travel or whatever. We just happen to need blood, and look. I'm not gonna lie, human is the best, but we are perfectly fine living on pigs blood. Can do so for centuries with no problem."

"What so Mark was innocent? It's fine that he killed his family?"

"No! Course not. But I don't think he could help it. Would have realised what he was doing after feeding on them and been confused and terrified and felt guilty for the reat of his potentially centuries long unlife. Undeath? Gotta get a consesus on this terminology."

"He attacked me when I came in here."

"Well yeah, course he did. You come in, stake held aloft, your little sun lamp at the ready. He's tearing himself apart with guilt at what he's done, doesn't know what's going on, expects the police. And, well, you know what the pigs in this country are like, very murdery, so he's on the defensive, and you're scared expecting a monster, turn your little UV thing on, poof goes Dave."

"Mark."

"Whatever. But you see my point? Inevitable is what it is. But he was still a person, could still have learned to be better, to feed on animals or just buy his blood from the butcher's. No need for murder."

"We still put real people in prison when they commit just one murder," Charley pointed out.

"Right. Prison. Not immediate execution. You give them a chance to be rehabilitate, to be pay their dues to society and become a better person. Well, at least in theory. But you don't kill them immediately. And, let's be honest, cops and soldiers can murder as many people as they want here, no one kills them for it."

Charley didn't look like he even knew how to answer that, so Peter kept right on going. Talking people's heads off, he was good at that.

"So, right, vampires should also deserve a chance."

"You came in here with a stake," Charley pointed out, "ready to kill Mark."

"In defence," Lucian said, "if we had to. We heard you from outside, a human, and we assumed you were a victim."

"Exactly," Peter added, "we were gonna talk to this kid, try and get him to understand how he can exist without being all murdery. And if he went no, humans taste good, don't regret killing my family, then yeah, sure, might put him down. But we were gonna give him a chance, right?"

"We were," Lucian confirmed, "Peter was really worried about these other potential vampires. It took us a while to track any down, since he was unable to successfully contact you."

"And that's because you knew what was happening, yeah? Saw what I can only assume happened to Amy and knew I had gotten bit too, that for whatever reason the cure is wearing off?"

Charley looked down at the floor, clearly uncomfortable, clearly sad.

"Yeah," he admitted in something barely above a whisper.

Peter gave him a moment, leaning closer to Lucian, letting him place an arm around his shoulder, whispering a quiet thank you in his ear.

"She tried to bite me," Charley said, his voice void of hope.

"In my sleep, she tried to bite me. I'd noticed that something was off, right, but I thought it was something else. She was getting sick, or struggling mentally, and that maybe she didn't want to confide in me. I don't know. Maybe I had an idea but just didn't want to believe it was true. But her face was all... you know, the teeth and everything, just- just wrong looking."

Lucian looked ready to argue, to defend the weird gross vampire faces Peter and Amy shared, but Peter stopped him with a hand on his arm. An appreciated gesture, but not helpful right now.

"Yeah?" Peter encouraged.

"But I never stopped worrying, I had a crucifix by my bed, just in case. I saw she had stopped wearing the cross necklace she sometimes wore, but I didn't think anything of it. She wore one I'd gotten her instead, so you know, thought she might prefer it."

"So when she bit you? What happened then?" Peter asked, as gently as he could.

Charley was visibly trying not to cry, now, and Peter felt bad for him. Having his life torn apart by vampires yet again, knowing there was no one who he could talk to, who would understand. He knew the feeling.

"I, uh. I got the cross, managed to overpower her. And I... I tied her up, locked her in the... We rent a place of campus, and there's this storage unit in the basement, right, so. I locked her in that."

"I'm sorry, you locked your girlfriend in the basement?" Peter asked, somewhat incredulous. 

"She tried to bite me! I still have scars!"

He tugged down the collar of his jacket to show a couple of mostly healed cuts along his throat.

"Still," Peter maintained.

"I got her a little like. Mini fridge and some really bloody meat."

"Not to disparage your attempts, Charley boy, but we don't really do well with solid foods. Lots of, uh, vomiting."

"I did figure that out, after," Charley admitted.

"After what?"

"She, uh, she escaped."

"Course she did, Charley. You locked her in a bloody basement. She loves you, but she knows what you're like about vampires, right? She was starving and just doing what her instincts told her to. Probably feels shitty about it."

"Yeah," Charley murmured.

"So you've been finding the others, am I right? Taking 'em out to avoid having to do so to her?"

Charley nodded miserably.

"And you were gonna get to me eventually?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Okay, I get that. But listen, I have a suggestion for you. We, Lucian and me, we help you find Amy, help her figure out how she also can live. And it's gonna be hard, and difficult, right, but I know how much you love that girl. She's worth it, yeah?"

"She is."

"So we help you to, help you figure out a way to live, to get her blood, to cope."

"Will she be immune to UV light then too? Like you are?"

Peter shook his head.

"Sorry, Charley. That's a different thing. Complicated. She's gotta be nocturnal, and that's not perfect, but it's better, yeah?"

Charley still didn't look happy, but he was just calm and sad, now, with the tiniest, hidden spark of hope.

"And then," Peter continued, "we can track down whatever others are left, anyone thwy might have turned. And we can give them a chance to find a less violent way to live. Well, exist."

He looked to Lucian, who nodded, squeezed his hand in support.

"So, what do you say?" Peter asked, "do you still want to kill me, or will you let us help?"


	34. Graphic Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No not like that

"Come _on_ ," Peter groaned, "one, just one proper bloody smile!"

Lucian frowned at him.

"I don't see the purpose of this," he told Peter, "you know what I look like, and you have other photos of me."

"But you always look serious," Peter complained.

Lucian smiled. Peter squinted at him.

"Nah, not good enough, babe. Doesn't reach your eyes, just looks like a weird grimace. Have you never had your photo taken before, is that it? Are you not familiar with the concept? Big important wolf like you, thought you'd have had to have sat for an oil painting or something at least once."

"I was in hiding," Lucian reminded him, crossing his arms.

He was beginning to feel just a little bit attacked. Peter groaned dramatically, striding over and pulling Lucian into a kiss. His hand slid into Lucian's hair, messing it up just a little, then down to adjust the way his borrowed hoodie fell just so. And when Lucian saw the stupid grin on Peter's face, he couldn't help but smile, even as Peter lightening quick aimed the phone camera at him.

"Unfair," he complained, rubbing at his eyes, "that's manipulation."

Peter shrugged, a smug smile on his face as he tapped adjustments into his phone.

"You're terrible. A terrible boyfriend. Don't listen to me at all."

"What, now I'm part of your pack you're gonna be the alpha male, is that it?"

"Peter, I've explained about-"

"Yeah, yeah, flawed wolf anthropology science. Wolfology? Lupology? I know. You've said. It's a joke."

Seemingly happy with his dishonestly acquired photo, Peter stuck his mobile into his pocket, before getting close, linking his hands around Lucian's back, looking down into his eyes. He was, Lucian thought, terribly charming, and it was very hard to feel any real annoyance.

"If you'll follow me into the bedroom I'll apologise," he promised with a grin and an exaggerated wink, and, well, Lucian was powerless to resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to make the images not either enormous or tiny and I am sorry. Also this is an apology for neglecting this fic. Got inspired to continue my Crowley & Aziraphale during the nanny + gardener years get cursed to think they're humans and have to solve the mystery of themselves while falling in love fic, and so worked on that for a bit. Will continue this one also but the allure of perhaps managing to finish a planned out fic was too strong. But I am genuinely quite proud of how it's going so if you wanna check it out.


	35. Graphic Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes like that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Lucian shares my personal social anxiety about how to approach anything remotely kinky

Lucian leaned down over Peter, hands either side of his shoulders, fangs out, hair hanging down, cocooning them, a dark space where it was just the two of them. Peter looked up at him, eyes hooded, face flushed, but still looking very human. That was part of it, apparently. Part of the appeal to him. Lucian growled low, delighting in the high pitched moan Peter made in return.

It appeared that if you spent most of your life worrying about the scary supernatural beings in the dark coming to kill you, there was also a chance that you developed at taste for the idea of them coming to fuck you too. If Peter had had told him this at the very start of their relationship he might have been uncomfortable. Might have thought that was all Peter saw in him, a scary monster, if, clearly, in a sexy way, but they had been together for a few months now, and in that time gone through so much together. Also, Peter very much was no longer human, which, though not ideal for him, made Lucian feel a lot better about this scenario. He no longer had to worry about hurting him, about being to rough, not even about biting him. The worst had already happened, and it had happened on purpose. 

Lucian’s eyes were a pale blue, and there were some artful smears of blood across his face (which had come from Peter’s breakfast, but it was part of the aesthetic, Lucian had been informed). The shirt Peter had been wearing lay in shreds on the floor, and Lucian knew how much money Peter spent on his artfully destroyed clothes and felt a little bad about it, but he had insisted.

“No,” Peter whimpered, “please don’t-”

Lucian stopped, letting go of Peter’s wrists, wincing at the reddened claw marks in his skin.

“I-”

Peter sighed.

“Lucian, I love you, but you’re a terrible actor. Just- just keep going. We worked out a safe word, remember.”

“Pomegranate,” Lucian agreed, “yes, but it just feels… weird. I don’t understand why you want me to… to pretend to attack you.”

Peter looked up at him, searching, thinking. He had fed recently enough that he seemed almost entirely human now, warm, his skin as far from pale as it was ever going to get (not very, but there was a healthy pink glow), heart beating fast.

“It’s… It’s about being wanted, I think. Being so irresistible that you lose control.”

Lucian frowned.

“But you are irresistible to me. Well, not so much I’d attack you to have my way with you, obviously, I want you to want it too.”

“I know,” Peter promised, “I know, but it’s also… that it makes it safe, somehow? It places the wanting on you, which makes it okay for me. Because I didn’t want it, I was… forced.”

Lucian sat up on his knees, his face contorting in worry.

“But I don’t- I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want, Peter.”

“Babe, I know. I know that. That’s why it’s a sexy fantasy, yeah?” Peter said, taking one of Lucian’s hands in his and kissing it. 

“It’s not about you being scary. Or it is, but. Fuck, this is difficult to explain. It’s like. You know when we talked about using handcuffs, and we agreed not to because the idea made you so uncomfortable, yeah?”

“I remember,” Lucian said.

He didn’t know when chaining people up had become a normal part of sex but he did not like it. Even centuries later it forced back the memories of the silver spears sliding into his back, of seeing Sonja burn before his eyes as he was powerless. Of the feeling of seeing her burn and then being able to transform, and the guilt he felt, knowing that if he had been able to change just minutes earlier he could have saved her. He swallowed hard. Not the right moment for this.

“And it’s… it’s like that. It just… The thought of it is sexy to me?”

“Me attacking you is sexy.”

“Yes. No. Sort of? But it’s pretend, right? The important part is that it’s pretend, and that I know you would never hurt me.”

Lucian couldn’t help but look down at the large scar where he had bit Peter, where the imprint of his jaws were clearly visible as shiny white scar tissue. Peter followed his eyes.

“That’s not- I asked you to bite me, Lucian. I knew what I was getting into. That doesn’t count.”

“I know, I know but it’s still… I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

“No I should hope not. Bit of a shit boyfriend otherwise, don’t you think?” Peter said, a half grin on his face.

“Thing is, the pretence of it is why it’s sexy, right? If you actually attacked and tried to kill or rape me, that would be horrible, and I wouldn’t be turned on by that, right. It’s the idea of it combined with the knowing you are so painfully sweet and gentle that this is a conversation we’re having.”

Peter pushed himself up on his elbows, looking up at Lucian with wide brown eyes that caught the late afternoon light beautifully.

“You know I trust you, right? And look, if it’s making you uncomfortable we don’t have to do this. I just thought, you know, take advantage of those fangs and claws of yours.”

Lucian leaned down to kiss him, brushing a thumb over his cheek. 

“I admit I still don’t understand it, but I will try if this is something you want, my love.”

Peter grinned, leaning in to quickly kiss him once more.

“Appreciate it. And you. And just remember, as long as I’m not saying the safe word it’s okay.”

“All right, dear. But I don’t think I can do the talking thing, it just feels… silly.”

“It’s all right,” Peter promised, “nothing you’re not comfortable with.”

Lucian nodded, then took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. He was nervous about this, more than he told Peter, worried that despite Peter’s strength and abilities he would do something to hurt him. He worried also, though less, that he would simply make a fool of himself. Not that he thought Peter would do anything worse than be amused, perhaps tease him a little, but it still felt weird doing this, playing pretend for sex reasons.

“Are you-” Peter started to ask, but Lucian didn’t give him the chance.

He slammed him down into the mattress, hands on his wrists again, nails that were half claw digging into soft skin, one or two hard enough to pierce the skin. He snarled, baring his fangs, moving up enough to properly loom over Peter, whose eyes had gone wide and dark, his breathing fast. Lucian could feel his hips jerking helplessly, unable to move under the weight of him. He leaned down, dragging sharp fangs across the sensitive skin of Peter’s neck, gratified at the soft gasp he got in return. He sucked bruises into the skin there, moved up to kiss him, tugged at Peter’s bottom lip with his teeth until the skin broke, blood beading.

“Don’t-” Peter gasped, “it hurts, I can’t-”

Another low growl, as deep and aggressive as he could manage without fully transforming, and he sank his teeth into the flesh of Peter’s neck. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough that the red teeth imprints would last a while, would bruise. Not hard enough for Peter to mind either, Lucian could feel that from the insistent way his cock poked into Lucian’s thigh.

“You’re mine,” he snarled, moving to plant scraping kisses down Peter’s chest before he could actually see the look on Peter’s face.

He found this mildly mortifying, but it’s what Peter wanted, and surely more than eight centuries as a lycan ought to have taught him how to be scary. He tugged on Peter’s nipple with his teeth, making him whine, pushing up against Lucian, against his mouth. His skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and he struggled weakly against Lucian’s hands. Peter bit his lip, tried to press closer to Lucian. Another low growl, then he kissed down Peter’s stomach, down until he could lick along the length of Peter’s cock, taking it extremely carefully into his mouth, letting Peter feel the scrape of fangs against him.

“Oh fuck,” Peter breathed, looking down at Lucian, “oh fuck, Lucian-”

Whatever he was going to say faded into moans as Lucian released him with a last lick along his length, a hand wrapping around him. He guided Peter’s hands up to the headboard. Peter seemed to get the message, keeping them there even as Lucian focus his attention further down, spreading Peter’s legs and settling between them. He traced a line from Peter’s opening, up to his balls, appreciating now Peter’s forethought in opening him up earlier. Attacking monsters probably didn’t take their time or use lube. Still, he fumbled behind himself, digging the small tube from where it lay between rumpled sheets, one handedly pouring some out on his cock, slicking himself up while he used the other to run claws up along Peter’s length.

Guiding himself with his hand, he pushed in, making a conscious effort not to be too careful. He sunk in to the hilt, taking a moment to revel in the feeling of Peter, so tight and warm around him, before pulling almost all the way out, then thrusting in again, hard and fast. Peter groaned, his hand threatening to slide down, so Lucian grabbed them again, holding both in one hand, holding them in place as he used his free hand to grasp Peter’s cock, not so much stroking as allowing Peter to thrust up as much as he was able.

Lucian built of a fast pace, slamming into Peter, watching in delight the way he flushed, the little sounds of something a bit like pain and quite a lot like pleasure. The balance, the thing he had explained and Lucian hadn’t quite understood. He tried not to get in his own head about it, but he was failing, could see Peter looking up at him, the expression that came just before asking whether everything was all right, and no, he wasn’t going to ruin this a time number two.

“Lucian-” Peter gasped, not getting further before there were teeth scraping against his neck again, lips against his, claws drawing red lines in the skin on his chest.

The kiss was harsh, filled with fangs, aggressive, and seemed to be exactly what Peter wanted, arching up, pressing up against Lucian, trying to get closer, more, deeper. 

“Lucian,” he pleaded again, though without further elaborating.

Lucian snarled, close to Peter’s ear, close enough to almost see the shiver running down his spine. Peter’s legs were wrapped around Lucian’s hips, tugging him closer, and as he got closer to his orgasm he seemed to care less for the authenticity of it. Lucian reached down between him to wrap his hand around Peter’s cock, encouraging him, pushing him closer, his own thrusts growing harsh and stuttering, but this was Peter’s thing, he deserved to come first.

Peter came with a moan, spilling between them, clenching around Lucian, shuddering, the taste of his blood on Lucian’s tongue. Lucian followed soon after, his claws digging into Peter’s skin without meaning to, his head thrown back, a sound that wasn’t entirely human escaping him before he collapsed down onto Peter.

“Oof,” Peter said.

Lucian didn’t say anything for a little while, just laying there breathing heavily for a few moments. He sighed, pulled out, leaning over the side of the bed to grab a wet wash-cloth conveniently placed on the night stand and cleaning them up.

Peter was covered in bruises, little cuts and bite marks, and if he hadn’t looked so blissfully happy and satisfied Lucian would have felt terrible. He still didn’t feel great about it, but still. Peter had asked for it, hadn’t used the safe word, so he must be satisfied. Right?

“Was that… Was that all right?” he asked carefully, concentrating for a moment and letting his wolfish features fade away.

“Mhmm,” Peter said, tugging at Lucian until he wrapped around him, resting his face against Peter’s neck.

“What about you? Too weird?”

Lucian pushed his hair out of his face, letting his fingers trace the marks all across Peter’s skin, which were already healing.

“A little weird,” he admitted, “but it’s you. It’s always going to be good for me when it’s you. I’ll admit I enjoy it a little more when you’re more of an enthusiastic and active participant, but this was good too.”

“Mm,” said Peter, whose eyes had slipped close, and whose heart Lucian could hear slowing down at a rate which would have been slightly alarming had he been human.

“Love you,” he added, voice soft, a hand curling into Lucian’s hair.

“Love you too,” Lucian murmured.


End file.
